Dear Jasper,
You are four months old. You’ve been here for four months. Here’s a little bit of what I’ve learned in that time:
People love to tell Boy Moms that they have no idea what they’re in for. They question if you’re ready for the craziness of Boy after the apparent calm of Girl. (And J- you know your sis Suzy Zu. That fluffy-haired monkey suspended from the ceiling fan? In those moments it takes all that I have to not point at her with an incredulous “yeah, we’ve got one of those.”) There seems to be this unspoken sentiment of how I can possibly do a good job of raising you to Be A Man with the handicap of a household filled with sparkles and patent leather. So I have a plan. This is how your Dad and I hope to raise you in our home- and the world. By the time you read this, you’ll be able to articulate whether I’ve succeeded or failed. (And this list has nothing to do with peeing your name in the snow or anything like that. I’m leaving that one to your Dad. And I hope I never have to hear about it.)
-I want you to know that Being A Man is sometimes a load of crap. It’s okay- and occasionally good- to cry. To feel. To throw a blanket over your head and tag out for the day. Every fight out there is not your fight.
-That said, when it is your fight, I want you to win. With your wits and your conscience and- failing all else- your fists. And like my Dad always said to me, “Take no prisoners.” If you are gonna throw the first punch, you’d better make sure it’s good enough to be the last one, too. Stick up for the underdog. And your sisters. And yourself.
Real Men wear button-downs.
-I hope you always love deeply and see beauty in everything; art, people, cities. And then I hope you’ll make art and truly connect with people and travel to cities I’ve never even heard of. (It wouldn’t be terrible if you brought back some trinkets for your mother, either.)
-Play sports. Don’t play sports. Whatever. Be physical and crazy active and do things that you want to do outside or in padded rooms or in stadiums. But- truth time- playing a “guy” sport has no correlation to whether or not you can eventually propagate the species. There, I said it.
-Respect everyone. Everyone. Until they’re no longer deserving of respect. And then see #2.
-Be fearless. Challenge yourself. Do [legal] things that terrify and ultimately reward you with a new sense of self. Just don’t feel the need to tell me immediately beforehand. (And when I yell at you afterwards? Know that there’s a little pride mingling with the apoplexy.)
I don’t worry about you, kid. Sure, partly because you’re barely aware of your feet yet, but also because I’m an exceptional judge of character. You, pal, are gonna be a great guy. And these aforementioned ways we plan to ensure your ascent into Awesome Person? I’m pretty sure they’ll work out absolutely fine. Just ask your sisters.
After all, they’re the exact same things we’re teaching them.
I love you,
Mom
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