Hey Again Kiddo

I haven't forgotten about you. 

It's already been a whole year!  You're not in our family yet, but this past year I haven't forgotten the first letter I wrote to you.  You're the reason I started up this little collection of memories. 

There's going to come a time when you're almost grown and you'll want help. When I graduated high school I had a lot of important decisions to make that seemed just too big for me to make.  I wanted guidance.  I wanted help.  I wanted more than a parent.  I wanted to go back and meet my dad when he was my age.

I'll never be your age.  Sorry.  I'll be your daddy, your dad, your old man, and even that guy who "just doesn't get it."  But there will always be these years between us.

I started this little box of memories a year ago.  It has since blossomed into many things: a timeline for the milestones B. and I reach, an outlet for our fears and frustrations, an exploration and exercise in writing.  But above all, this is youth.  Our youth.  Our days of uncertainty and excitement.  You'll never see us as the kids we are now.  God willing we'll be a little better prepared when you come to us.

But when you come, we'll be what you need.  We'll love you, protect you, teach you, discipline you, mold you into an amazing person, and then stand back in awe as you surpass our wildest hopes.  You'll grow before us, you'll make leaps forward and stumble backwards at times.  We'll catch you when you fall and cheer you as your race on.  We'll try to offer advice as you face the perils of life, but I know there will be times when you'll want guidance from someone less crotchety.

So in an attempt to relate to the future you, present-us have some pointers for living fully.

Stretch yourself.  Surround yourself with people who challenge you to grow and improve.  Never submit to complacency.  The moment you start to feel like a face in the crowd, drop your crowd.  I chose who to fall in love with because she is so different from me.  I will never be comfortable.  I will never be bored.  I will never stop growing because of who I chose to spend forever with.

Love fiercely.  B. has caught me staring at her countless times.  I love with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.  I learned to do so from watching the way my father treated my mother.  Make your attention obvious.  When you are with your friend, be there.  When the love of your life walks in the room, light up!  People will notice, including the most important person.

Have the courage of your convictions.  You will come across people who mock and deride and scoff at what you believe in your heart of hearts to be true.  It will hurt the most when that derision comes from those closest to you.  Those who should be your friends and defend you will not always come to your aid; some of them might join or even lead the onslaught.  Don't give in.  You are better than surrender. 

Work well.  No matter what you have to do, earn a good living.  The work might seem beneath you.  We've been there.  Both of us.  I've had my fair share of bad jobs.  B. has worked in agonizingly unjust conditions, and has always excelled at what she does.  You might feel as if you've done your time, you deserve better than your circumstances.  You're probably right.  So prove it.  Prove you're better by sticking to it and trudging through the slop.  Greatness never cuts corners.

Have heroes, not idols.  There are and have always been great men and women whose stories inspire and delight.  However, no one is perfect.  Pretending that the people you respect are flawless is a fool's errand.  The people we look up to let us down in one way or another.  Separate the art from the artist, the cause from the leader.  Don't let their shortcomings destroy the dream they began for you.  Take the good parts of their legacy and move forward, adding your own contribution to something greater than you or your heroes.

The world is awesome.  It's hard to see beyond your own problems sometimes, but I guarantee you'll outgrow the chains that try to hold you down. There is a world out there that you can't begin to grasp fully.  I'm always impressed by B.'s knack for finding the extraordinary and clinging to it.  Exotic friends and amazing memories are drawn to her.  I never fathomed the wonders of the world she has introduced to me.  You aren't allowed to be bored.  Ever.

Another year has passed and you're not with us.  We're not ready for you yet.  We still have much to do before we are.  But we love you.  We've never met you but we feel like we've always missed you.  Until next year.

Love,


S. & B.

A Quiet Rave

My brother graduated high school today.

My mom sent me a photo.  When the blurred photo appeared on my tiny screen, I could only smile.  There he slouched, decked with all the trimmings of pomp and circumstance, that trademark look of detached bemusement that never completely leaves his face.  Logan in his truest form.

In many ways Logan and I are different.  He got a near perfect score on his ACT exam; I took the SAT twice to get a decent cumulative score.  He is an intense, avid gamer and plays for hours given the opportunity; I shelved Starcraft the moment a girl turned my head and haven't played much since.  He has been known to subsist entirely on cereal for days at a time; I find cooking therapeutic as well as nutritious.  He refuses to waste time on activities (or some people) that can't engage his intellect; I waste a lot of time being too nice.  He doesn't talk much, especially when you first meet, but when he does it's insightful, hilarious, or both; I make a passable pretense at insight and I'm rarely funny on purpose.

B. often tells me I'm just like my dad.  But she forgets that I'm a lot like my brothers, too.  Adam and I both have ipod shuffles for brains, constantly humming or beatboxing some obscure song that can usually only be recognized by each other.  Josh and I share an affinity for legos, an unhealthy addiction to the works of Bill Watterson, and a sense of wonder about the world.   And Dallin - well, we both like driving our parents crazy and using our endearing cuteness to get away with it.

But Logan... Well, in him I see the quiet soul in myself.  The introverted intellectual.  The passenger who doesn't mind the backseat.  The watchful wallflower.  He and I are private people.

I've learned to divulge and not play so close to the chest now that I have B. in my life, but beyond that I'm a relatively private person.  I can small-talk, I can be friendly, and if we're really good friends I'll bare my soul to you (you know who you are).  But I don't mind spending a Saturday at home alone.  I don't bother myself.  I can go to the movies myself and have a great time.  I can rock out at home and dance in my living room and have a much better time than I would going out dancing or negotiating the logistics of an outing with friends.  For me, the private party - the personal day, the headphone-concert, the quiet rave - that's where I really can enjoy myself.

I didn't throw a graduation party when I left the hallowed halls of high school.  I graduated, and then I went home with my friends who quickly became disappointed and bored at my lack of festivity.  I used to think I just didn't know how to have a good time.  Now I think the prospect of entertaining other people and concerning myself with their enjoyment was too daunting a task.

But I don't think Logan will shut down as I did.  I'm told he's going to at least one big party and taking a trip with friends as well.  Celebrating in a big, public way in a large group isn't usually his style, and I tip my hat to him.  That's another way he and I are different: he's full of surprises.  Just when you think you've got him figured out he can turn on a dime and do something completely unexpected.  B. can attest, I am far too predictable.


Congratulations, Logan.  You made it.

Now the real party begins.

Life is awesome, and you're going to own it.



Now go play League or beat Metroid for the 8th time or something.  Enjoy your summer.




B. gets frustrated that she doesn't know my family that well, particularly my brothers - who are, let's face it, cryptic sphinxes compared to the open books that are her sisters - and my sister.  But I try to tell her that it's not her, and it's not them either.  It's not anyone's fault, no one offended anyone.

It isn't a grudge or a slight, it's just who they are.  Who we are.  The quiet ones, thinking private thoughts and living private lives.  Many people get uncomfortable around privacy, but the ones who really enjoy themselves don't have time to waste on discomfort.



What about you?  Do you rave quietly?  Or do you party loud?


S