I'm looking at a recently-framed pirate picture you drew for me, and thinking about the life you are carving out for yourself in second grade. I was surprised the other day when your teacher emailed out a photo of you and your classmates holding up signs of your hoped-for professions. You want to be an artist! Your talent really is blossoming.
You are growing up, Tommy. I look at you now, strong and athletic, smelling of boy sweat after a quick game of kickball in the neighborhood, and I realize you have talent and strength and wisdom these days. You consciously go for the comedic punch line. ("Mom....Frank's crying!! You've got the do the 'bop-around'....whatever that is.") You dance like crazy. You are sensitive, wanting to please me and yet putting up a huge wall of defense when something difficult crops up between us.
Don't be afraid of me, Tommy. I am on your side. I know you are saving the many lunch-notes I've drawn for you in the secret compartment of your lunch box. I know you love me and I love you back...every moment.
Even in the hard ones.
Love, Mom
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