Pilot
Decades ago, I was you. Nothing more than a miraculous token of life, fresh on the cusp of reality with a world before your eyes. In many ways, I am you. My blood in yours, pumping your fresh, little heart into existence. You may not know me yet, but I know you. You are my son, the son I’ve been waiting for. Welcome to existence.
As parenthood doesn’t come with its own instruction book, neither does this collective life we share. Though we are at different places in time, you and I navigate unchartered paths that take more than bravery alone to embark. What I do have over you are both years and experience. For what those are worth only you can judge. If either facet has meant anything to me, it’ll be in the value that it brings to you.
Most of what you’ve experienced so far hasn’t been on your own accord. Unlike myself, you didn’t choose me the way I have chosen you. You also didn’t chose the location, time or place of your birth. You didn’t chose who your parents were, their economic position or the genetic traits that would shape you physically or mentally. The lineage in which you’ve descended and the values you’d inherently be exposed have also been completely outside your choice. On top of that you enter a world that is entirely broken. Beautiful, but broken. The proverbial cards of life have been dealt to you by a dealer you don’t know, fortifying the mystery of what lies ahead. All of this combined with your first years’ existence being without mindfulness or cognitive control, you are a now thrown into this game of life entirely unfastened. And despite the fact that some of our most dominant beliefs and views are developed during this time of innocence, you nonetheless are a player now. No matter how big or how small.
This is part of what it means, “the miracle of life”. How such a blameless infant can gradually face the world and turn out with a head screwed on right. Like feeling warm water turn into a boil over a decade’s time, you seldom notice the changes in reality’s temperature when exposed over long periods. By the time you’re old enough to read this, your subconscious will have have set many ideas in concrete- most of which you are unaware. While I’ve tried to be a mold for the best, your own life journey will require a jackhammer to undo perspectives you gleaned before you could hardly speak.
My son, there is only so much I can say or do to prepare you for the world ahead. More than any wisdom can impart, it will be scraped knees and failure that will influence you more as you learn to chart the forrest amongst the trees. These words to you aren’t designed to keep you safe. They’re designed to make you strong. That was a lesson I had to learn with my own father. Instead of thinking of him as preventer – as a man with a role to remove obstacles- I came to know him as a builder. He let life do the breaking, and then in the void of defeat created the safe place for me to see, learn and grow from the inevitable harshness of reality. At first it seemed cruel. It seemed unfair that my own father wouldn’t stand between me and the punches. After all, he should already have this minefield mapped to waltz me through unscathed. What is his experience even for?
Along the way I saw the bigger picture. Preventing pain in the short term would prevent growth in the long term. My love for you inevitably has me stand defending you from the severe- each parent has their own definitions on the spectrum of challenge they can see their child endure. Scraped knees from running too fast and drug addiction are obviously different issues. One is a lesson. Another is fatal. Prosperity, together, is our goal. I want to lead you up. Never down.