To Liam on His 7th Birthday

Liam,

I cannot believe that you are seven years old. I’ve been there the entire time so it makes sense, but it feels like it is going by ridiculously fast. In a couple of months, you will be finished with 1st grade and deeply ensconced in elementary school. I can still remember meeting you in that operating room. Your eyes would barely open under the bright lights.

There is something in those first moments that is difficult to describe. You meet a lot of people in your life. We all have stories—some good and some not so good—that we carry around. You hear the stories in their voices, see it in their faces and in the way that they hold their bodies. But in those first moments with you, you were nothing but possibility; limitless potential energy. When I encountered that with you and your brother, it felt a little like I was being born also.

That potential energy has transformed into a kiloton of kinetic energy. You crackle with it. You run and hop and skip from place to place. There are times that it seems like it is impossible for you to stay still. You love to go and explore the outside world even if it is just a walk to our mailbox. You are always moving ahead of your mom and I. Your mind moves at the same rapid pace. I love to listen to you talk when you get on a roll. You tell stories like a bouncing ball bounding down a steep staircase. Your voice swings and sways in a singsong like way.

The funny thing is for all the energy that you have—for the times when stillness seems impossible—there are actually so many times when you are the most still person in our house. You love to snuggle with us and to sit in our laps. You want to be connected to your people. Since you have been able to sit up for yourself, you often lean into me or Mom as you sit, swinging your outside arm around your head so that your other hand can touch us. It upsets you greatly when one of us is gone for even the smallest amount of time.

Like all people, you are this bundle of contradictions: calm and mischief, gentleness and roughness, dependence and independence. You drive me up the wall at times when you seemingly don’t listen and torment your brother (who you want to be with so much). And you also make my heart melt when you smile at me and call me “Papa.” I don’t know how that started and it was a little weird at first because I guess I always figured Papa was what you called grandfathers or parents in the Old World, but I love it.

And I love you, William with all of my heart. You are still boundless possibility. I don’t say that expecting you to become anything except yourself. It’s funny. I don’t want you to grow up so fast and at the same time I cannot wait to see what you become. Your heart is big. Your curiosity is a force. Both will serve you well.

My prayer is that you always know how much you are loved and that nothing will ever change that love. You are furiously loved by God, your mom and I, your brother, your grandparents, and so many other people more than you could possibly imagine. In these seven years, you have already brought all of us so much joy. Please know that always and hold onto it. May this next year be one in which you continue to grow in wisdom and stature, heart and curiosity, and so much energy. But you’ll have to forgive me if I hope it doesn’t happen too fast.

Happy Birthday, buddy! I am so grateful that I get to be a part of your life.

Love,
Papa