A Prayer For My Eldest
I love you times infinity and forever, past that, forever.
I worry about you plus ten-finity, beautiful child with cornflower blue eyes and hair of gold, bursting thickly from your head like a halo, like spikes of light, a halo of unearned privilege that you don't yet understand but god/dess bless you, you are closer to that understanding than a lot of adults I know.
Your mind, your heart is so big. So, so large that you can't even focus on adding or subtracting. So filled with the problems of the world is that beautiful brain of yours, that thoughts bounce around like ping pong balls of tremendous import, you cannot breathe even to focus on how we humans might already have lost our way. You see this loss, and it's raw for you. What use is a geography worksheet compared to the knowledge that we are doomed?
How like me at my age you are. How like your father.
I love you times infinity and forever and I take you out to buy art supplies to let you bleed your spirit all over pages that should be filled with school notes. I make you hamburgers in the morning even though both of us know the meat industry is filled with the pain of souls, human and animal, because you are so thin and tall and growing so fast, your young man's body shooting up like a beanstalk never full. Protein helps. I feel guilty, but I love you and blood is nothing but sacrifice.
My soul for yours.
I tell you stories, I tell you about the times in high school I ruined any chance at popularity, because I, too hated football and pep rallies and felt alienated from kids dancing to music I'd find interesting years later after I got out of my own way. I listened to Joni Mitchell in the 80's and that didn't help matters much. I like Tricky, now. Beastie Boys.
I finally get it, joining. I'm late, but there is still time, son. Still time.
I pray for you, in the only way that a former agnostic can pray, please please please God and Goddess, Spirit, Universe, Hera, Artemis, Brigid, Jesus, Moon, Sun, mother of all, father of all, Shiva, Krishna, please help him just dance in dance class instead of sitting out because he's freaked out by what seems like twerking but is simply a chest and hip isolation. Please Twyla, please Martha, please Bob Fosse, support this young one in his efforts.
I love you times infinity and forever this child that nearly got stuck in my birth canal, this child who entered the world face up and eyes open, always aware in the way that causes so much frustration to parents but god...to him...I know that frustration.
You are so frustrated, 14 year old you.
I was so frustrated, 14 year old me.
Just know this, and sit down and look at me and listen for once!
You are so loved, and LIKED, young grasshopper, young Jedi, young spirit that draws the pentagram on his hands and the goddess on scrap paper which I think was algebra homework.
Adults love you (and teens will remember you as cool and untouchable and strange but they too, they see in you things that terrify them, things they aren't willing to say and think about out loud and you are and what a burden that is). Adults? They want you to join their ranks of the unpopular, the ones who got through it towards better things, the creators, the artists, the ones with bad attitudes that finally figured it out, and god how I love you because you WILL make it.
Please do your homework. Please try.
Know things will get better.
I love you. Beyond the Universe.