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My kid is a thinker. He has feelings, but he tends to run with his thoughts. Given a choice between telling you how he feels and what he thinks, there is no choice. He’d rather build you a robot than talk about his emotions. Rather design you a card or picture on his computer than actually write one by hand. I sometimes find myself struggling to relate to this deeply analytical child—as his way of being in the world is very different than mine.

He is also 10 and quickly reaching the age where the stories about him are no longer “cute” and “funny”—but limited by his need for privacy. He knows I blog and he knows he plays a big role in this world of mine. He’s ok with me telling you the good stuff and with my posting photos, as long as he isn’t “embarrassed” by it. At two you can get away with sharing so much, even at six and seven. Let’s face it, at that age they are doing stuff that warrants conversation. Those little wisdoms that come bounding out of their limited experience are too good not to share. Right?

At ten… not only are the things he’s doing too complicated to share—how am I supposed to explain that he’s looking for molecular modeling on the internet and can’t find anything that isn’t attached to a University when I’m not sure what molecular modeling is—but they are private in nature. It’s stuff you might not want your mother telling the world.

It’s not just about dignity… although I’m trying hard to maintain mine while protecting his. It’s also about being willing to let another person own their own story. I have some time before he looks at me and says, “This is my life and it’s off limits”—but it’s coming. At 10 he has his own blog and his own stories to tell. He is finding is own voice and the line between what part of the story belongs to me and what is his by virtue of experience is getting so hard to see.

I’m hoping, that by taking this first step to letting him go, letting him be in charge of his own story, that the later letting go will be easier. Of course, it won’t be. But practice has to help—if only in teaching of the doing.

These are lessons I’d rather not have to learn.

Today, IZ and I were called downstairs and presented with the card above. The text on the front reads:

Your love is great. So great that in order to give it back I had to wrap it in these three poems.

The inside has the following handwritten poems.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I love spending time with you.
Rather a sewing lesson or a video game,
I love the fun you put in my name.
In or out , you’re always about,
Whenever I am in doubt.
Sometimes I’m frustrated there is no doubt,
But you can fix it before I shout.
Whenever you can you say OK,
So we can all shout Hooray!
Young or old you will always
Make me feel the Love you hold.

Mom
Kind, Happy
Loving, Feeling, Exaggerating
A happy good person
Thank you

Dad
Scientific, Enthusiastic
Thinking, minding, examining
Another good happy person
Thank you.

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He closed his little love note with these words:

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thank you for all the wonderful things you have given me. Now I give you these poems to express my feelings about you.

It was that last line that sent my tear ducts into overdrive. Of course, it’s not cool to be crying over these things…

Boy Wonder: So, do you like it?

Me: Like isn’t a strong enough word, kiddo. It’s beautiful, these words are beautiful and I love it. I love YOU!

And here is the moment. Where I once would have posted those words without a second thought, I paused. I held his little card in my hands and said, “So, do you mind if I share your words on my blog?” He just smiled and said, “Nah, you can! It’s ok. Honest.”

I find myself overwhelmed a lot these days and he’s not the least of the beauty in my world. As I sat there looking at his card, breathing that moment in I was impressed with his willingness to put to paper his feelings. This wasn’t a gift of a robot or an invention or his newest theory on atomic science. Instead, it was like being handed a flashlight in a dark tunnel and discovering that you are surrounded by astonishing beauty. In making his card, he moved out of his own world and attempted to meet me in mine. Pencil and paper and watercolors and crayon—the stuff of my soul was handed back to me in the most tender of moments.

I almost didn’t write this—I almost held onto it… but even at ten the wisdom that comes bounding out his experiences is so worth sharing. So, I share while I still can.

And then, my thinker child went back to thinking. I thanked him for his gift and said I’d be keeping his words forever. He smiled at me and said. “You know if you don’t want to type all that out, I have it saved on my computer.”