What I see in us

My dearest James Davis,

It’s easy on this blog to focus on your little brother. He’s tiny, for one thing, and I want to be sure to jot down memories and share pictures of his fleeting babyhood. He is sociable and wants his picture taken, unlike you, so it’s simple to snap and post. Your daddy posts a lot about you on his blog, so I have confidence your stories are being told.

Everybody says you look like your daddy. That you act like your daddy. And it’s true—I see so many wonderful, amazing things from him in you. If you grow up to be a man like him, the world will be blessed and bettered by it. But, oh James, I see so much of myself in you…

I see the fear in your eyes underneath your calm exterior when I drop you off at Sunday School. You clutch your little George close and walk in without protest, but I watch you stride quickly to the quietest corner where there are zero children and numerous books. I peek in an hour later to see you sitting quietly, by yourself, listening to the others singing their songs and doing crafts together. And I know your fear James. I remember hiding in the corner of my Sunday School, terrified to talk to anybody. I remember not knowing what to say, and having no idea how to make friends. I saw the fun around me and hadn’t the slightest clue as to how I might fit into it. Kids can be mean—sometimes we take risks to talk to others and they shoot us down, without knowing they have wounded us forever. We will fight this continually, you and I—you’ll learn the right cues and things to say, but you won’t ever stop being overwhelmed in big groups.

I see the joy in your eyes when you run around with your one friend; sweet Alexa Jane. The one person your age you trust. You demonstrate that trust by sharing your beloved Steven immediately upon greeting her. (A lovey you won’t let any of us in your actual family touch, by the way!) You run around uproariously, laughing at the top of your lungs with her, taking the lead in conversation and sharing your most favorite stories. I see how you pick one and tie everything to it. And I think back to my one friend over the seasons of childhood. Breanna, Beth, Amanda, Jessi…how I equated my happiness to having that one best friend, and how unflinchingly loyal I remained to them, no matter the circumstances. I pray that you always have that one friend, and that you choose him or her wisely.

I see the intensity in your eyes when you read books with us. Your brain is working a mile a minute second, and your face glazes over as you commit every single detail of the story to memory. It’s like somebody pushes the pause button on the world around you as you freeze and focus. And I am reminded of myself once again, as I read to the exclusion of everything throughout my childhood. Later on, I memorized various hour-long programs of piano music for performances and competitions. I know what it is to eliminate all distractions around me and zero in on what needs to be done—the performance, the book, the project. This skill will serve you well, even as the mom in me watches you compulsively obsess and fears for your sanity.

I see the laughter in your eyes when your little brother purposely tumbles into your space over and over again. His overt expressions of admiration and love for his big brother are easy to see. If I weren’t your mom it might not be as simple to see the reciprocation, but it is there in spades. You smile at his antics, even if they’re occurring in the middle of your favorite book. You are quick to bring him his favorite toys when he is upset, and you are willing to share your stories and read out loud to entertain him. You love those younger than yourself, and already show a maturity in loving and leading them. You are an oldest, as is your mama. I am most comfortable and, dare I say it, myself, around children. They free me to be me, and they love me more for my quirks than my put-togetherness. I see you sensing that already. Keep children close by (we’ll help with that, as will your aunts and uncles)!

I see the reluctance in your eyes at any change, whatsoever. New dish for supper, slightly different bath time, normal shopping cart instead of a steering wheeled one, new activity to try. You loathe (and I don’t use that term loosely) the new and the unexpected. James Bear, your Grandpa Davis can tell you about how he had to drive me, many months after I turned 16, to get my drivers permit. I didn’t have anything against driving, except that it was NEW. I wept about going to college, even as I knew it was going to be wonderful, because it was different. Your daddy can tell you about the journey it was to convince me to marry him—not because I didn’t love and want to be with him, but because it meant a CHANGE. My prayer is that we can help guide you through change in a wise way—giving you new opportunities (even forcing, if necessary), but also providing you with chances to flourish and trust in the blessings those changes bring.

I see the longing in your eyes to be a grownup, even as you resist the changes that are required to get there. You already sense the silliness around you, the appeal and power that adulthood brings, and you want that. I PLEADED with my parents to let me attend adult Sunday School at church. I hated the flakiness and immaturity of my peers and yearned to soak up the wisdom of the grownups. James, choose to soak in each day as it comes. You will be a grownup—you already are in lots of ways. (I have to remind myself daily, “He is three, he is three, he is only THREE.”) The taxes and bills will come, as will the independence to choose your own bedtime and activities. But know that it’s perfectly acceptable to be a kid. To even ACT like a kid. To be goofy and silly on purpose. We delight in that more than you can possibly know or understand. We laugh hardest when you are dancing to a silly song, making funny faces at Owen, or doing your spot-on Mater impersonation.

So on this, your fourth birthday, know that your momma sees you. And in you she sees, in many ways, an unfiltered version of herself. What she still is when you strip away the practiced layers of social graces and expectations. She aches for your hurts and fears, and she celebrates when you are comfortable in your own skin, because she KNOWS. May this very special day be full of the things you love most, and enjoyed freely, without fear or anxiety. I love you so much it hurts James Bear. 

Happy birthday sweet boy.