Caedmon Comma

My Son,

Why can't you stop? Just stop.

 You started pre-school a little while ago. You had a backpack on and bravely waltzed into a future that I could not guarantee. Your future will look a lot like my past, no doubt - bullies, girls, danger, and beauty. You are proud to be growing older and tackling new adventures. But, your mother and I are scared to death.

 Where did our little boy go? How did you get so big, so old, so fast? Were we just not paying attention? Has it really been 4 years.

Four.
Wonderful.
Years.

It seems like just yesterday that you spent most of your days sleeping, and when you weren't sleeping you would stare fascinated at your hands or cry for milk. Now, you are so much bigger and older and smarter. You're off to school! But, all this growing and learning comes with a daunting price. You're no longer as innocent and you're no longer fascinated by your hands.

And we want to stop the inevitable. We want to ensure that you don't outgrow us. Maybe we just want you to stop so that we can catch up.

Part of it is pure selfishness. We've grown used to having you around 24/7. In fact, we may have taken it for granted. We used to hang on your every coo and breath. Eventually, your voice and activity  became just a buzz of background noise. You faded from the foreground to the background. 

Now, since you now spend so much of your days at school. We no longer have you, and your beautiful voice and your wonderful activity and we miss you. 

My son, you're getting older and better - more righteous and wonderful by the day. We love to watch in wonder as you evolve. You remain our light and glory. You are a blazing astronomical source of hope and truth. 

And we love you. 

 

Yours, 

Dada