A Letter to my Son

Dear Jaxon,

You are three weeks old today, and as I stare into your open, curious eyes, I find myself thinking of all the things I want to give to you.  Not a name or food or the roof over your head, although I will certainly give you those, but the lessons of life which will guide you, hopefully, to be, not a great man, but something far more important, a good one. 

In a way, this is the test I have studied for my whole life. The time when I must pass on what I have learned, frame it, focus it, and perhaps most importantly, strive to live up to the ideals which I espouse, so that I can show you the way, not with words, but with actions.

But what are those ideals? What hard lessons has life has taught me that I can pass on in the hope that you might do better?

The first is that I am human, like everyone else, flawed, fallible, fragile, and incomplete.

Knowledge of your own humanity is the first step to compassion, and compassion is the gateway to lasting love.

I have learned that the feeling of wanting, of desire, is not an expression of need, but rather a symptom of the human condition, and that those who always get what they want, almost always end up wanting more.

I have learned that compassion, courage, and character are more important than awards, assets, and accolades.

I have come to believe that life is learning, and patience is the first lesson. It leads to all the others.

Fear, on the other hand, is the first enemy, and the most tenacious.

I have learned that in order to grow, you must fail, and in order to fail, you must take risks.

Doing what comes easily is a joy, but sometimes the real rewards come from doing what comes hardest.

Knowing you are right is easy. Admitting you are wrong is hard. One is a sign of arrogance, the other a sign of strength.

Remember, you cannot control the talents you are born with, you can only control what you do with them.

I have found that happiness does not come in a pill or a palace. It has no secret path or magic password (at least none that I’ve found.) It is as illusive as it is precious.

I’ve seen that good does not always triumph, and evil often prospers, but being kind is never wrong, and caring is it’s own reward.

I’ve learned that there is no true love, no destiny, and that dreams do not, after all, come true, at least, not the way you expect. I’ve learned that life is never easy, or kind, or fair.

Life hurts.

But, if you can roll with the punches, cry when you need to, and laugh when you can’t, it is, most definitely, worth it.


I have no way of knowing what life has in store for you. There will be triumphs and failures, surprises and disappointments. It will take you places you never expected and challenge you in ways you never thought possible. It will ask too much of you and sometimes feel as if it gives nothing at all.

I cannot tell you how to succeed or even what success will mean for you. All I can give you is this advice, for what it’s worth.

Read.

Listen.

Learn.

Grow.

Be Patient.

Be Kind.

And try to be brave.

These are the lessons I have learned, but seeing the path and walking the path are not always the same thing, and I have lost my way many times.

I eat too much, think too much, talk too much, and do too little. I have been afraid, discouraged, arrogant, angry, and lost. I have hurt the people that I love, and while I’ve rarely done things that I knew to be wrong, I’ve often failed to do those things I knew to be right.

I am not the man I set out to become.

So, perhaps this isn’t about what I have to teach you, but rather what you have given me: The desire to be a better man.

In the end, the only gift I can give you is a promise. I promise to do my best to listen when you want to tell me something, and to learn who you truly are and not who I want you to be. I promise to be patient even when you are not and kind even when I do not understand. Above all, I will try to be brave enough to face the things I find hardest and walk this path with you until it’s time for you to forge a path of your own.

Thank you for this and for all the lessons we will learn together.

Love,

Dad

July 13th, 2011