Dear James,
For some time now, these letters have been roaming around in my mind. I'm not sure what prompted me to finally put pen to paper. Perhaps it's finally the right time. Or more likely it was procrastination that was keeping me from doing it before. Either way, here I am writing this and here you are reading it. Together at last!
Today is May 11, 2012. You're in Mrs. Hogan's third grade class. I volunteer every Friday morning, checking off the returned Thursday folders and grading multiplication tests. Today, I'm in charge of the Mother's Day craft and will be helping the class make handprint cards that say "I love you... this much!" I like working in the classroom, not only because I like the school environment but because I enjoy watching you in your element; your interaction with your peers, your sense of humor. You like being in groups, especially when you're the center of attention. I'm sure it's probably distracting to your table mates, you always cracking jokes and dancing in your chair. But it's fun. You're a fun boy to be around. I am happy for you. I don't know what it's like to be an only child, and I probably worry to much about your social adjustment but I'm glad to see that you get along well with others. You're competitive, you always have been. Especially with dad. You always route for the opposite team from him and already there's a little trash talk going on. More than teams, I think there are players that are your favorites. I don't know all of them, I don't follow sports like you do. But you like Kobe Bryant and LeBron James. I'll have to remember to ask you later today who your other favorites are.
On previous occasions, when I've thought these letters out in my head, sometimes, you've been my main audience and other times it's been your wife. So perhaps I'll go back and forth, writing sometimes to you and other times to your wife. I don't know how old you'll be when you read these letters, but I'd like to think that you'll read them multiple times throughout your life, and always remember how much your mom loved you and tried to do what she thought would make you happy. In some ways you're lucky. You have no one to compete with for my attention. Besides dad, of course. And sometimes work. I'll write more about dad and work later. But, really, I'm probably the lucky one. Lucky that I have you as my son. When you were baptized last year I was able to stand at the podium with you and tell everyone a little but about you. I said, and I still feel this way, that your dad and I are luckier than if we had won the lottery that we get to be your parents. I'm not sure if you feel that same way about us. We definitely have our faults and I apologize that at times we've been selfish and haven't always acted like the mature adults that we know we should be. I hope that by staying close to you, and showing/telling you how much we love you and setting a good example for you, that you'll remain close to us. My fear, I suppose, is that you'll go out on your own and resent me like I sometimes resent my own mother. I am writing in these letters all the things I wish I would have heard her say to me. It was different for me though. I had 5 older siblings and over 70 foster brothers and sisters. Grandma is getting older now, she's 76, and my childhood and adolescents has blended in with all the others. I don't think Grandma really knows me or can distinguish me from all the others. I don't anticipate you'll ever feel that way. But instead, someday, you may feel that I smothered you. Who knows. I guess time will tell.
You and I flew to London last month to visit Grandma. I hope it's a trip you remember. She is finishing up the last of her mission there this week. You were in charge of the camera and took about a million pictures of weapons and cannons, armor, etc. I've asked a hundred times but you won't tell me what your favorite thing about the trip was. You did, however, enjoy the gift shops and bought several shirts and a pair of shoes. You've always been into fashion. In fact, you usually will help pick out clothes for me. You'll say things like, "Mom, that shirt doesn't match anything else in your closet, you should get that color instead." Which I appreciate because your dad really has no clue. He hates shopping for clothes and isn't much help when it comes to choosing one outfit over another. I wonder if, when you're grown, you'll still have a knack for fashion. Your uncles Tony and Pete, and your Grandpa Kimball are all very fashionable. Too bad you dad missed out on that gene.
