Of Bumps On The Head And Years Gone By

Last Friday, my oldest boy got a 'mild to severe' concussion. It happened at school towards the end of the day. The school nurse called me in my classroom. I rushed right down and picked him up.

It was scary. He was throwing up. He was dizzy. And he kept trying to go to sleep. All the danger signs. Anyway, because the school could not get a hold of my wife I was apparently the parent in charge. So I took him down to the hospital. Five hours and a CT scan later everything checked out normal, though he was on bed rest for a couple of days. Those five hours were difficult. I kept him awake. He laid his head on my lap. We kept talking about anything as long as he did not fall asleep. I held his head while he repeatedly threw up and gave him lots of water. I prayed.

If you are a parent I can guarantee the last thing you want to see is your child in a hospital gown lying in a hospital bed, throwing up and repeating that he wants go home. I saved my tears for when I got home and he was safely asleep.

My whole point in bring this up is that it got me thinking. I tell my boys often how much I love them, how much they mean to me. But I want to leave something in writing that may outlast my words. So I started writing letters. This one is for my oldest. The letter, like my parenting, is a work in progress.

Dominic,
I guess I’m writing this now because I’m afraid that time will play that trick it does and pass by too quickly and I won’t notice that I never did this. As I write, you are seven years old, in fact, you are sleeping right now, as is your mother and brother. I can’t believe you are seven years old. I’ve been thinking about doing this since you were a baby. I swear it was just yesterday that your mother gave birth to you. From day one, you were me. In looks, behavior, attitude, and competitiveness. I guess I should apologize. Anyway, back to the beginning. You were perfect. Born at a good weight, good size and with complicated allergies that drove your mother and I nuts. I was such a lousy father those first two years. I didn’t know what to do with you. You couldn’t talk or write or communicate with me in any way shape or form that i recognized, and that frustrated me sometimes, and I didn’t know what to do with my frustration. I was never taught how to handle frustration or anger well. I hope I didn’t pass that on to you. If I did, I’m sorry, I tried not to. Perhaps genetics is more powerful than we like to believe. Again, back to the beginning. I always loved you. At times so much I could literally feel physical pain at the thought of it. I always wanted a son and God has blessed me with two. You were first. Everything was new for me. I had such a crappy childhood you were my chance to do it all right and re-live it as I thought it always should have been. I pray that I gave you a great childhood. I tried my best and worked my hardest to do so. I read to you everyday, sang to you, took you for walks when you were ready. I loved every minute of it even when it was hard and my strength as a person was challenged. Being your father has made me a better man. Thank you.

I gave you your name. I knew what your name was going to be before I saw the first ultrasound. Your first name is Latin in origin and means ‘belonging to the Lord’ and you do. The day your mom told me she was pregnant we prayed and gave you to Him. We asked for His wisdom in raising you in a way that would honor Him and lead you to salvation in Jesus. You belong to the Lord. Live for Him and this life will be filled with blessings and contentment that the world alone cannot bring. Your middle name is Greek in origin. It means’Man’s defender’. I didn’t expect you to go out and save the world, you can’t. Jesus has already accomplished that. I chose that name because I hoped that you would use your life to better the lives of others. I hope this means something to you. You had your mother’s eyes thank goodness. I love looking at your mom. She is an amazing woman. We are lucky to have her.
From the day we brought you home you were always curious. You didn’t sleep as much as other children. When we asked the doctor about this, he said that some babies are just more alert than others and don’t sleep as much. That’s you. Alert. Curious. Observant. You always have been and still are. You started walking the day you turned ten months old and there was no stopping you from then. Soon you turned a year old and I still couldn’t believe that I was a dad. There are so many things wrong with me that I worried I was infecting you with them. I wanted to be the perfect dad. All right not perfect, but better than I had hopefully. By the time you turned two I felt like a dad. Sometimes when you were playing or sleeping I would just watch you. Stare in awe of what you are. Fall more in love with you. And hope that I was doing it all right. You were talking a bit now. You learned your alphabet by this time and your were running all over the place. It was then that your mom and I realized that we needed to buy a home. Our first home. My first home. I grew up in an apartment in a bad neighborhood. Not as bad as some, but worse than most. It was my desire, with God’s blessing, to give you more than I had, and it still is. When we first moved into the house, you just seemed to know where the backyard was and made a beeline for it. The yard was unkempt and the grass tall and green and smelled like late summer. I have this great imagine in my mind of you standing back there amongst grass nearly as tall as you. It is hard to believe that you were once so small. You still are in a safe place in my heart.

My hope is to add to it each year until he reaches 18. I'm starting one for the baby tonight. If you are still reading, thanks.

Peace to all.