Ben.
Benjamin.
Benjamin Bunny.
What do you say when your little baby is on the brink of moving out of the house?
I guess I assumed there would be some linear series of thoughts and conversations that built up steadily to the big moment. But in reality, it's just been more of a scramble of everything, everywhere, all at once, as the days move steadily along, with now just hours to go before you drive away to Ohio.
Over the last few months, I have felt so many things.
Excitement for you, pride in your accomplishments, dread of your departure, worries whether you will be OK, confidence that you'll do great, uncertainty over all the uncertainties, random memories flashing through my mind, the normal, busy distractions of every summer as a principal, which in a way, have kept me from savoring this time as much as I wanted to, but also in a way, perhaps, have kept things moving and spared me some anguish.
Most interesting to me has been the increasing realization that this time and place is not where you can remain. This in-between period, which I've recently learned is called "liminal space" is not permanent. As much as it turns my world upside-down, you have arrived at a moment when you have to make a move.
It's not that I wouldn't love for you to stay here a little longer; it's just that this moment, this window, is temporary, and the chance for you to step forward into this new stage of growth is not something to miss.
Yes, you could stay in our house, keep working part-time, and just do college online, at least the first two years.
But...no.
I don't believe that's what you need. I don't think that would be good for you. I think the chance to strike out on your own and have a new adventure is a priceless opportunity, and you should jump into it with your whole heart.
It's time to leave your comfort zone, create a new comfort zone, and then come to see this time and place and all these previous years through new eyes.
First, and I know you have heard this countless times: I love you, and I am immensely proud of you.
There is nothing you need to do to ensure these two facts remain. They have always been, since before your birth, and will always be. Nothing about this next stage of your life is about securing these two facts, but I hope these two facts will help move you forward, and will comfort you in lonely moments when you might wonder what on earth you are doing so far from home.
I also want to express to you that I accept and affirm you for who you are. You are you, and I love that about you. I do not expect or desire for you to be me, or Mom, or Jonathan, or anyone else. There is a fine line between trying your best to guide your child with good advice, vs trying to force your child to do what you think you would do, and I suppose every parent has to struggle with where exactly that line is. I hope I have been a good judge of that throughout your life, and I am sorry for the times when I haven't been, as I'm sure there have been many. I hope you will remain open with me and Mom and Jonathan about the joys and challenges of your life, and the decisions you face. We will all do our best to help you, always.
I was so happy to see the handmade card you received from one of your managers at work, to celebrate you on your last day. One of the things I have wanted for you for many years is for you to understand how fondly people feel about you, and for this love to ease your insecurity. I know how much peace you miss due to feeling insecure about yourself, and I know I can't fix that. Probably nothing or no one can, other than the gift of time. But I hope you can see and feel how much genuine fond feeling there is for you among all who know you. And I hope this can work to erode your anxiety over time as you continue to grow up.
That right there..."continue to grow up"...remember you're not done yet. You are on a journey, and really still just setting out on it. Give yourself time and grace to continue learning how life works, even who you are and how you work, knowing that you're going to keep changing.
I still remember you disappearing for a time during my grandfather's visitation at the funeral home in Pecos. Later, you did a 5th grade career project on being a mortician. Later still, you and Mom researched Cincinnati College of Mortuary Science, and all this became a real path for you. Only later did we learn that when I lost track of you that evening at the funeral home, you were actually walking around with my Dad, who was showing you around and explaining to you what all happened at a funeral home. Apparently, this is where the seed was planted for what may be a great career path.
I'll offer two things here: Yes, absolutely finish your degree path, but no, don't feel like you must choose an entire life's journey in one moment and never deviate from it.
Being a mortician is a great career, and I would love to see it work out for you. But if it doesn't, you have a lifetime to try other things, and that's OK. We are with you for the ride. But one step at a time. Complete this step that you're on, see how it shakes out, and go from there. Yes, getting a degree is a process, and some steps along the way can feel pointless. But...it's still worth it to finish it, even if you end up doing something else later on.
One of the things that amazes me the most about you is your work ethic. You have been a diligent worker all your life, and everyone who knows you celebrates this, from your teachers to your supervisors, to your aunt, uncle, cousins and grandmother, who observed you running the counter at Game X Change. Ever since you were little, you have been a person who is willing to stick with the task until it is done, and this mindset will make you stand out as an adult.
Keep it up.
Not everything has come easily for you. In fact, many of your milestones have been achieved through struggle, perhaps even some degree of suffering.
Mom and I were always committed to helping you stretch beyond your comfort zone, and sometimes this has been really hard. There have been chapters of your life in which anxiety and fear seemed to be winning, but we have always had faith in you that you could work through whatever is in front of you.
This is just as true today as it was when you were little. Don't ever give up or think the effort isn't worth it. It is, and it will eventually pay off.
Another area in which you have made me so proud is your commitment to be real when it comes to your faith. You have challenged me to be real with you, and I hope I have done so. Faith is another area of life that hasn't come easily for you, but your honesty about this struggle will be more than worth the pain of the struggle.
I assure you with everything I have that God is real, that He knows and loves you, and has been with you this entire time. He will be with you in Ohio, and with you wherever you go. He understands your anxiety, your struggles with belief, your questions about why life can't just make sense and work like it should, if He is really there and loves us. He doesn't mind that you have these questions; in fact, I believe He loves how these questions influence your relationship with him, just like we are all more at ease with someone who is real with us than we are with someone who is fake.
There is nothing fake about you, my son, and I admire you so much for that.
Keep talking to God and make room for Him to talk to you. He understands when you don't understand, and He loves that you acknowledge where you don't understand Him.
And I believe one of the evidences of His love is the connection you have with the people at St. Joseph's. Keep that connection strong, and forge new connections up at St. Paul's in Fremont.
I do hope the right "someone" comes along in your life at the right time. Despite your doubts, I think you will make a great husband and father someday, if you choose that path.
I know this is no comfort right now, but I really do think these things happen when we least expect them, and they find us when we're not chasing them. At least, that's how it has happened for me in my life, and that's how you came to be, so hang in there. I really do believe the right relationship will be there when you're ready, and when that person is ready. Try to be patient, and focus on being the kind of person someone else will find a comforting presence in their life.
Yes, having a family is a lot. But believe me, it's more than worth it.
Speaking of family, I want to put in a good word for your brother. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have a sibling, and not everyone with siblings is fortunate enough to see them a lot. Make a point of keeping Jonathan in your space, even when it's not absolutely necessary. Don't let space grow between you. You don't have to have lots in common to be good brothers. Support him, keep track of what he's up to, be acquainted with his friends without overstepping into his space, celebrate his successes, and heaven forbid, when he is struggling, you be the first name he sees pop up on his phone.
Mom and I are counting on you guys taking care of each other after we're gone.
Thinking of family members who are no longer here, please be sure to keep Al & Marian Pawlik with you in your mind, your heart, and your life. You were blessed to have two of the most wonderful grandparents a person could have, and Mom and I frequently lament the fact that they were not here to see you graduate from high school and begin this journey. They were so proud of you, so invested in your life, and proved it in so many big and small ways. Keep a picture of them in your space always.
And, more than any other person, I want to praise your sweet Mom. I still remember the pure joy on her face and in her voice the moment she saw the pregnancy test and learned we were having a baby. I remember how she received you in her arms at the moment of your birth, and just said your name, over and over. I remember how she made connections, enlisted help, and drove all over creation to find the therapists you needed in your earliest childhood, which got you on solid footing to start school. I remember how she made every occasion so special. I always say, "There's nothing like your kid's birthday", and I learned that largely from your Mom.
Of course, you're grown now, and the mother-son relationship must evolve, but this woman...I pray you keep her in your mind and treasure her. She has been the most devoted mother a person could have. Truly, if all the world had a Mom like yours, a whole lot of things would work out better.
Stay close to her, receive her love in the way she expresses it, continue to grow up and create your own adult boundaries, but also recognize how much she has allowed your relationship to evolve as well, and appreciate that.
As I said, my mind is popping with memories, random and sweet.
One of them really hits home right now.
You were four years old, we lived at the Killeen house, and you were learning to ride your bike without training wheels. I took great pride in doing the Dad thing, running alongside you with my left hand on your left handlebar, and my right hand on the back of your seat. We would go down the sidewalk to Don's house next door, up Don's driveway and back down to the sidewalk again. Slowly but surely, you were getting better and better at it, and less and less fearful.
I hope I never forget what you said on one particular trip up Don's driveway:
"Daddy, you just have to let go."
Now, that's a lot of wisdom for a four year-old. Letting go isn't easy, and sometimes you need someone to tell you it's time.
It's funny when I think of the progression of your independence:
*Watching you ride your bike around the perimeter of Timber Ridge Elementary, and praying so earnestly for you during the 30 seconds or so when you were out of my sight, knowing I could never forgive myself if something happened to you during that brief interval, yet how much that brief interval meant for you and your growth.
*Watching you ride your bike away from our house, suspecting you might be riding all the way to Market Heights, even though you knew Mom was not comfortable with you going that far. But of course, this was another important level of independence, not to mention an opportunity to name sections of the shopping center after NYC boroughs.
*Seeing how seriously you took safety while learning to drive, and how suddenly you shifted from still needing my help while driving to finding my coaching a nuisance. It all happened so fast.
*How proud I was of your prioritizing low mileage over bells & whistles when making the commitment to take on a used car payment.
*How much I treasured the picture Mom took of you reporting to class for the first day of Kindergarten, with flowers in your hand for Mrs. Weatherford.
*How you poked fun at that same picture when you were coming to the end of 5th grade, calling that previous version of you a "pip-squeak". :-)
*How you said, "Liberty Hill is my home!" at Meet the Teacher Night as you got ready for middle school to begin. :-)
*How nervous I was about you coming to Ellison. How aware I was that your arrival meant Ellison wasn't just mine anymore; someone else in our household had just as much claim to those hallowed halls as I did. And yes, I still remember your very first day of 9th Grade, 1st period in the portable with Ms. Strovers. I still remember announcing the Band for the hundredth time, but feeling very different knowing you were out there marching. How comforting it was to me on Bus Duty in the afternoons knowing you were out there on that practice marching pad. Seeing you zip past me in the hallways during passing periods at my downstairs elevator spot, and sometimes trying to snap a secret photo of you in the crowd. Laughing along with Mrs. Espada as she would tell me about trying to startle you in the halls. Seeing your excellent grades, report card after report card, as the academic load of high school became routine for you, and the occasional struggles of middle school faded away. Watching you steadily rise in class rank year by year. Seeing you join Tech Theater late in your career, and loving your Instagram post about "the best seat in the house"...
And then, somehow, I remember you coming toward me on the graduation stage...
How can it already be time for a change?
I don't know how it can possibly be that time, but here it is...
My son, it's time for a change, a pretty big one, and it brings me great joy and pride to know that you are ready for it. (But am I ready for it?!? LOL, we'll see...)
But the best part is: This isn't really the end at all, just a shift to a new chapter, and one that I'm really excited to see unfold.
I don't know how else to say it: I'm just really proud of you, really excited for you, even as I feel emotional about my morning routine being changed, likely forever, and marked by your absence rather than your presence.
But I'll adjust, and I'll be thinking of you every day. I'll be ready for any and every text from you, any and every Instagram post or story, just to make sure you are OK.
I can't wait to see what you do with this chapter in your life.
I know it's going to be good.
I love you, son, and I'm so proud of you.
