Unending Milestones

And my 4th Father's Day

Dear Rhodes,

It’s been almost a year since I last wrote. Today you had your first dance recital. It was really your first time on stage and you danced in front of a big audience of kids and adults. You were one of two boys in the entire show and the only boy in your group routine.

We held hands as I walked you up to the front of the theater and when we let go, you looked back at me once before going right on stage and taking your spot. You followed the teacher (for a good portion of the time) during the performance and got especially excited when everyone held hands and danced in a circle. When you were done I met you at the stairs, picked you up and gave you a huge kiss, I am so so proud of you.

You were so comfortable up there. By the time we got back to our seats and met up with mommy you were spinning in circles, eager to get back up there and dance more, next time with your tap shoes on. Clearly you’re a natural on stage - following in your mom’s (and maybe a bit of your dad’s) footsteps.

It’s wild how these experiences whiz by. I try to catch them in motion, pause and notice the significance, bask in the beauty of your 3 and a half year old body, adorned in a light blue bow tie and cummerbund, smiling from ear to ear as the lights switch from pink to match your blue.

For a second, in the back of my mind I recognize the thought of not being here for this, or if you weren’t here at all. I marvel at how fortunate I am to witness your life so far, to share in your growing. To have decided, with your mom, to help you get here.

This summer marks so many big milestones. You just finished your first year of (pre)school, that last day was especially emotional for your mom and me. Your weekly parkour class has challenged you to jump and climb so confidently that it scares us. This summer you’ll learn how to swim, maybe even ride a bike. We’ll take you to New York for the first time and you’ll ride the subway and the Amtrak to Boston to see Nonnie and Grandpa. You’re loving the garden, tending to the tomatoes and cucumbers, smelling the basil and talking to the nasturtium. You’re even peeing on your own, standing up over the potty!

At the end of each day your mom and I give you a bath, we brush your teeth, put on your PJs, read you a story and put you to bed. You insist on some cuds with me. We lay there, usually in silence, breathing together. I feel your chest lift and fall, sometimes I find your little heart beating, still quick from evening excitement. I usually get up to go and you say, ‘just a couple more cuds’ in your sweet, toddler boy voice. To that I can’t say no, ‘just a couple more’ I say. So I lie back down, put my arm around you and we doze.

I think you think I’m kinda cool. I picked up an old red Mercedes convertible a few weeks ago and have been painting it in my favorite primary colored style. You want to ride. I’ll get in the passenger seat and you’ll sit in the driver’s turning the steering wheel and pushing buttons. I make engine revving noises as you bounce on your knees, imagining a trip we’re taking together. You’ve mentioned wanting to drive it for real when you’re older. I know that will come too soon, let’s slow this old Benz down for now.

Of course, we have plenty of tough times these days. When you’re upset you often throw a toy or hit us, your feelings are big and you’re still learning how to verbalize them, you’re not getting what you want, frustrated by whatever boundary or agreement we try to calmly maintain. It’s so hard for me to remain relaxed, to remind you in a clear, respectful voice that we don’t hit each other, we keep each other safe. And, even if I raise my voice a little, usually within minutes, you’re on my lap and we’re reading a story or playing with trains on the floor. Usually these days you’re passed out in the back seat of the car.

I sometimes worry about not being a true sports dad with you. We skateboard in the driveway and can definitely ride bikes when you’re ready, but my throwing and kicking skills are pretty terrible since I’ve lost so much strength in my right side. I have fond memories of playing catch with my dad as a kid. I don’t know how much baseball I’ll be able to play with you though. We’ll see if you take to it at the Dodger’s game mom is taking us to tomorrow. I promise I’ll do my best and will practice with you as much as I can. For now we’re having a good time counting and naming all the chess pieces, a bit less of a physical sport, I know.

I love you so much bubby. It’s beyond words how good it feels, being a part of your life, being your father. Thank you for letting me bask in the glow of your massive, joyous heart, your silly giggle and infectious smile, I hope you’re basking in it all too. And I hope the goodnight cuds mandate lasts a long, long time.

Love,

Dad(e)