I love that you are my son; I love that my son is you. Because I am your father, I can promise you a few things: I will do everything to take care of you, and teach you life, and guide you towards wisdom and kindness and love. I promise to teach you to be a Man, and you will learn that being a Man means being a Person—who loves and who is kind and who has a strong backbone.
However, because you are my son, there are some things I cannot promise, and it hurts me so, because you are my son.
I will do everything I can so that you will be happy. But, try as I might, your happiness is ultimately, simply, not up to me. This breaks my heart, and I am so, so, sorry about this.
Your mom sent me that photo above, and I was darned near moved to tears. I am moved to tears, right now, as I write this while sitting in my office. In that photo, it looks like the characters in the story are talking about you. You, my happy, hungry, poopy, perfect little boy.
Indeed it is a tragedy to be clever and not happy. But it is also, as I have seen, far too common among the witty, the brilliant, the clever. And it tears me up that you might just be born into that tension.
Because of course I want you to be clever. But, dear God, above all, I want you to be happy. More than anything. This is a new desire, birthed in my heart the moment I saw you. And so your mother and I stay up late and wake up early and wipe off poop and clean up sheets, every day, because that is all we want: you, our son, happy and healthy.
And yet I cannot promise happiness. So all I can do is raise you, and guide you, and teach you to be clever. We will read to you, we will feed you, we will show you art. One day, you will read to others, and teach them to read; you will feed others, and you will teach them to feed themselves; you will make art, and you will make art with them. Maybe you will make others happy; maybe, dear God, you will be too.
For now, your mom and I will keep feeding you and wiping your poop. And we will pray.
Thankfully, our God is a God who can dismantle binaries. The prayer of my life, Max, is that you will find joy and remain in it—and that you’ll be clever, too.
Happy right now