I have to admit, Noodle, I’ve been dragging my feet on this one for a bit. You’ve been five for two weeks already, but the truth is, there’s so much to say it’s hard to know where to start. It’s been a doozy of a year. But we’ve carried on bravely, you and me, I think, in spite of all the dooziness.
Here’s what I’ve tried and failed to teach you so far:
· To snap.
· How to pronounce yellow (“lello”) or cupcake (“pupcake”) or Jeb (it’s more of a “Zseb,” like Zsa Zsa; and sometimes, it’s just “Dog! Come here, my dog!”), although you have nailed “coronavirus” which is equal parts endearing and sad.
· That not everyone, dogs and cats included, want to “battle” all the time. I know I don’t. Stop sucker-punching me.
What I’ve had moderate success teaching you so far:
· The lyrics to Hamilton. You make up a good chunk of them, but your spirit is in the right place.
· How important words are. All of them, even the ones you can’t pronounce yet. Learn as many as you can. Choose them carefully. (Longer is not necessarily better. Never say utilize when you can just say use, for crying out loud.) I've said it before and I'll say it again: "poop" is not as great a word as you think it is.
And here’s a quick look, my fiver, at a few things I’ll never be able to teach you:
· How to be colorblind. Because you’re not. None of us are. (I mean, except for the people who actually are. You know what I mean.) Don’t be. See all the colors. Mix them up. Use them in unexpected ways.
· What it feels like to be Black.
· How afraid a mother is to send her boy out into the world. Me, because you’re a little bit insane and fucking fearless and use the words “most dangerous” with glee as you set off for the swings or eyeball rooftops. Her, because she doesn’t know what about the way her son looks might trigger someone’s fear or violent bias.
This year, only your fifth, has already been fraught. With tension, with illness, with the unknown, with the broad awakening of some and the stubborn shutting down of others. But it’s okay. It’s good. Because that’s where the change comes from. And whether it feels okay or good right now, we are living in a time of notable change. For women, for people of color, for those who identify themselves and their view of the world differently than I do, or than you may as you grow into your own perspectives. Don’t believe the cynics who say nothing will change. They’re protecting themselves, or trying desperately to. They’re the reason nothing has. Instead, believe in the dreamers. The resisters. The question-askers. The protestors. The fact-finders and the truth-seekers. Watch them. Listen to them. Empathize with them; when you can't, find compassion for them anyway. So you’ll be ready to join them when you’re called to do so. And until you are, I will carry this torch for us, the one you’ve lit inside me.
You have already proven your value to this world a thousand times over in your short few years here. It steals my breath to imagine what you’ve got in store for us as you learn and grow. Just not too fast, my love. Not too fast.
How I love you, Emmett James.
Mama.
We’ll bleed and fight for you. We’ll make it right for you.
If we lay a strong enough foundation, we’ll pass it on to you; we’ll give the world to you and you’ll blow us all away.
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