Happy birthday, Micah. Four years ago you were our helpless little baby. Now you sing ”the United States” to your heart’s content (and ours), draw countless pictures of trucks (Toyotas and GMCs), and know that Pulaski is named after “some guy”. You’re all grown up!

Dear Micah,

Only one month ago, you slept soundly in your amniotic world, comforted by the murmurs of your mother’s voice, seeing and hearing nothing but the elements which were meant to shield you and protect you.   Then suddenly you were so violently hurled into a new one.   Yes, my son, this world you now live in will not coddle you like your first-time paranoid parents, and more often than not, the oneness you felt with your mother will be a distant memory because ours is a world of loneliness and individualism.   While all you once heard were the hushed sounds of your mother’s words showering you with love and affirmation, you now live in a world full of cursing, vindictiveness, and brutal hatred. While all you saw were the imaginations of an infant mind, ours is a world of shortsightedness and cold hard analysis. No wonder you came into the world with a cry.  

But son, realize that what you get is not always what you see.   Because in the midst of the pain, there is promise.   In the midst of heartache, healing.   And one day you’ll learn that tears can have more than one meaning, that they can also signify joy.   This is a lesson you have taught me my dear son.

Love,

Daddy