---7 Years Old ---
Dear Son,
It’s been a while since I’ve dropped a few thoughts.
Forgive me, I’ve just been watching. Just observing. Taking it all in. Trying to be a good dad.
I’m punching the keys today from one of your martial arts practices. It’s your second with “the big kids” and also the second time I’ve found myself watching from the sidelines with anxiety, with pride, and with likely my biggest fandom for you yet in this space. My feelings are much more than you playing baseball or coaching you in basketball.
Your disposition is different. Your excellence is different in this space.
With martial arts, you stay diligent with the process. Respectful. Working hard. Getting better. In competition with and respecting the older kids you are training with. That’s what I’ve enjoyed.
It encapsulates everything you’ve grown into thus far. Still empathetic as ever, but adding an element of self-ambition and drive - something I’ve prided myself on - and to see you mature into this makes my heart happy.
You’re growing from “let’s be on teams” and afraid of failure into taking the occasional bold step - “ok daddy, you and me, one on one!” Whether it’s driveway basketball, front lawn wiffleball, WWE 2K on the PlayStation 5, or locking down your striking patterns…you have specific standards and are daring to get yourself there.
Baseball was fun, but it seems to come easily (-and right now, you just like it). Basketball was challenging (and you love it, too), but you learned how to be a good teammate last season, and that you needed to work on things. Your relentless “can we shoot hoops” is evident after our season ended.
You’re stepping into the world, and as I write this, I’ve realized from these two new practices that I’m excited and so incredibly nervous for you every step of the way - even though I don’t show it.
But there are also other moments…
Now, there’s the kid in my peripheral vision as I lift in the basement, counting…1, 2, 3, 4… doing pushups and burpees.
There’s the kid who wants Michael Jackson or Usher playlists on our car rides so we can jam out with sunglasses.
There’s the kid who hides from mommy to stay up and finish whatever wrestling event we’re watching together.
There’s the kid who is creative as they come, making things for this fictional wrestling company or providing his own commentary for basketball games on YouTube or for computer games.
Oh Ace. You’re turning seven years old!
I’m incredibly proud of the kid you are and becoming. And even more proud to say you’re my favorite person.
I’m SUCH a big fan of you.
Happy Birthday, kid!
Love, Dad.