Love Letter to My Son Paul

This is a letter written for my son's "Cool Kid" week at school. He was not amused by the reference to his early eating habits. "You embarrassed me," he said when he got home from school on the day his teacher read it aloud to the class. "It was also too long--eight minutes!" he added. 

"Yeah, well, I'm supposed to embarrass you," I said. "I'm your mother. That's my job." 

Personally, I think I deserve a raise.

Dear Paul,

As you know, this week your father and I have spent a lot of time looking at baby pictures of you. I have the stack of pictures here with me as I write this, so I’ll tell you what I’m looking at. There’s a picture of you sucking your thumb, a grin visible beneath your curled fingers. There’s you in a snowman costume, strapped into the stroller, clutching the hat you’ve just pulled off your head and laughing. When I look closer, I see that you hold one sock you’ve just torn off your foot, which you are holding up for the camera to see. Your nose is painted red, and with your mouth open, mid-laugh like that, I can see two tiny teeth on the bottom and just a hint of two on top. And your hair! It’s so blond and fine and silky that it’s almost white, like the strands of a spent dandy lion.

But my favorite photographs are of you in the high chair. In one picture you’re wearing a blue terry cloth sleeper suit, and of course you’re smiling, this time without a thumb in your mouth. You’ve got one fist resting on the tray and the other hidden from view. Apparently you’ve had a good meal, because you sit slouched in one corner, as if you’ve just devoured Thanksgiving dinner and couldn’t possibly eat anything more. The tray is smeared with what looks like maple syrup. Something shiny and sticky-looking covers your cheeks and forehead, and your sleeper suit. And what’s that in your hair? You guessed it. Maple syrup. 

We must have wised up after awhile, because in the next picture, you’re not wearing a shirt. Spaghetti sauce covers your little chest, your cheeks, your hand, a sippy cup, and some toys. This time your hand is spread wide and covered in sauce. I’m pretty sure I caught you painting the tray with it. Of course you’re smiling, as if to say, “Don’t you just love the feel of spaghetti sauce on your skin?” Quite often I had to bathe you after meals, so thoroughly covered in food you were. But I laugh about that now, because you obviously enjoyed the process of eating as much as you enjoyed the meal itself. You didn’t just eat a meal; you liked to dress yourself in it, too. 

This way you had of doing things on your own terms we dubbed “Pauly-style”, and it started even before you were born. When I was pregnant with you, you didn’t just give my belly a karate kick now and then, like most kids. You did three-sixties, cartwheels, Ollies, and back flips. Once in church, a friend turned around from her seat in front of us just in time to see your acrobatics. She looked at me, saw your limbs doing the watoosie inside my belly, and gasped. I just giggled and shrugged. I knew that you would be an active kid--and a fun kid, too. 

And I was right. You have this amazing ability to do anything that involves physical activity, be it roller blading, snowboarding, BMX biking, skateboarding, soccer, or basketball. Your body just knows what to do. Usually there’s a jump, a leap, or a trick of some sort involved, too. Something distinctly Pauly-style. 

You even read Pauly-style. When you were in kindergarten, we’d sit on the couch and read those little paper books that were stapled together in the middle, usually stories involving a rat, a mat, and a snake named Sis. I’d turn to the first page. “See Sis sit,” I’d say. Out of the corner of my eye I could see you start to wiggle. By the time we’d reached the middle of the book, you’d be balanced on your head, looking at the book upside down. By the last page, you’d have somersaulted off the seat cushion onto the floor. And before I could say, “The end,” you’d scamper off to other adventures, usually involving a bike or a ball.

But Pauly-style doesn’t only mean you paint modern pictures with spaghetti fingers, or that you style your hair with maple syrup, or that you can hold your own with the big kids at the skate park. It also means that you know how to show kindness with small acts of service. Whenever it snows, I can count on you to be out before the rest of us, shovel in hand, clearing our driveway and the neighbor’s as well. I will always remember the winter we were hit with such a big snowstorm that school was canceled for the morning. Do you know how you spent your mini-vacation? As I recall, you cleared four driveways and some sidewalks too, whistling a happy tune as you did so.

There’s something else about you, too. You’re smart. Often when I haven’t seen you for a long time, I’ll find you in your room, reading a thick book, the cat sleeping on your lap. You’ve also consistently brought home good grades, excelling in math as well as recess. And, to top it all off, you’re a hard worker. When you were CEO of a pretend company for a school project and the computers went down, you covered all the crises that popped up with your characteristic aplomb—which is to say, Pauly-style.

You have the makings of a great leader: charisma, intelligence and good looks. I won’t be surprised if you end up running for president someday. And I’ll tell you this: you’ve got my vote for sure.

Love,

Mom 

 

Comments

[MaryB]

We love Paul and his Pauly-style!!