scribblechic

I keep hesitating to write you. These days feel a little like a dream and I am cautious with my words, frightened I may scatter your good fortune if I name my joy.

You are in a better place, academically. At rest you radiate contentment and engaged you offer a familiar attentiveness. You smile more often and there is an easy confidence to your posture; you are the spirit of your younger self.

I have missed the gentle, unguarded nature of your early years. Your eagerness to learn and faith in others. These past years I wondered at each unhappiness if you had lost these treasures with small violations of trust; disappointments that might have chipped away at the wholeness of your spirit.

I’m not sure I would have endured your experiences with such grace of character. We all struggle against the burden of other’s expectations and perceived limitations with gifts of ability too often overshadowed by intimidation; a false acquiescence of another’s ideal. Some of us cease to dream out loud, not you.

You still dance without music and smile hello; you still draft impossible goals despite doubt or rejection. The difference is you are no longer expected to pretend another form of self.

At an age when so much of your days revolve around school and dreams are aligned by education, you are newly positioned among educators and administrators who honor your individuality. There is no talk of reshaping you into a different image of success. No longer are we mapping accomplishment by a language that silently assumes a generic performance of ability.

You have the benefit of teachers who are endeared to your humor and value your ability. You are suddenly visible again in your day, no longer lost in the margins of a hollow performance. Your work has become more meaningful, your performance more invested.

This is my joy, to see you racing once more toward knowledge and community; learning and dreaming in tandem.

Love, Mom

Tagged: Education, Musings, Son