Dear Son, use caution when dreaming. There’s a time and a place for dreaming, it would seem. The challenge is discerning this. At 52, maybe I’m dreaming too big. Maybe it’s too much, too late.
Who am I to think it’s possible to change our educational, parenting and personal responsibility paradigms? For today anyway, it’s feeling quite impossible.
Dear Son, I almost caved while we were on Sanibel Island. The thought of you turning 11 today and the promise I made to be the best Dad I could were the keys to not falling.
Earlier this summer when I asked you if you could ever see your Dad drinking a beer, and you said, “You? No way!”
Cheryl interviewed me for a job in 1979 at West Chester State College.
She was engaged to be married to her high school sweet heart (not me).
I had found the woman I wanted to marry (not Cheryl).
Neither plan worked out, but I did get the job.
Rhode Island, June 16, 2011
Dear Son, every day is Father’s Day. Your Mother and I suffered through an invisible disability, infertility. Parenting is not an entitlement for some couples.
Spending our life savings, struggling for 8 years with pathetic odds, with no guarantee – heart wrenching. Doing our bear hug every day after school – priceless.
I hope every parent can comprehend the wealth children bring.
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Dear Son, I’m blaming you (and Mommy) for loving me…yesterday at Epcot:
Chapin, it’s your fault I started writing five daily, differently themed blogs. Remember? You wondered why your 2nd grade teacher, Mrs. Hoback, made you read 20-minutes, out loud, every night.
I wondered why the promise to write your book – filled with Life’s secrets – hadn’t been started. Which prompted a 100-day challenge to write in all five blogs, every single day.
April Fool’s Day, 2009 seems so long ago…