letter to a graduate

To hear Brandi read the essay instead, click here: https://youtu.be/UvLw--jYcEA

 My oldest child graduates from high school this week, and here is my letter to him.

Marshall,

When you were born, you surprised us all. You came far too early, in a process that began in the middle of the night. I woke up, peed a little, and went to the bathroom (note the order of those actions…you’re welcome). I had heard of water breaking, but I had also heard of losing control of all the things when you are pregnant, so I figured I was in the stage of the 7th month where you just pee on yourself without permission. Still, it felt weird. I got down on our nasty rose-colored carpet and smelled…for what, I’m not sure. My smell test confirmed nothing (except that our carpet looked disgusting and smelled even worse). I got back in bed, and, eventually, we called our doctor, whose advice was utterly useless. A few hours later, we drove to the hospital, trusting our own instincts in defiance of the conventional wisdom we had heard.

An hour later they told us not only had my water broken, but that I was close to transition and you would soon be born. Your dad and I, true to form, were equal parts clueless and confident, and just dumb enough to be super psyched about you coming so fast. As you know, we are loud and very salty people. In that delivery room though, I was silent. I had no energy for anyone but you, and will never forget the feeling of you dropping into place so I could bring you into the world. I knew it was time to push, and I began without telling anyone. Just when I suspected I was not doing well, I heard a NICU nurse lean to another and say, “it looks like we need to help the mom, not the baby.” I was trash at pushing! They offered me a mirror, thinking it would motivate me to push more effectively. “Ummm. Hard pass.” Here’s the lesson though: Failing or not, fabulous or falling apart, sometimes you just have to keep trying. So I did, and you were born.

You started the world tiny, sick and full of tubes. Now you are a grown man, ready to launch into the world. Every time you started a new thing, you were full of anxiety, and often tears. You second guessed yourself, unsure of who you were or where you fit. Your adolescence has transformed you into a different kind of person: Like your dad and me, you are clueless and confident, and you trust your instincts even when they tell you to do something that feels scary. You will soon start a new adventure across the country, and although I keep waiting for you to blink, you are clear eyed and all in.

My favorite thing about you is your love of absurdity. You are fun and funny, and seem to have no problem making a fool of yourself. Finding laughter so easily draws people to you because you create safety and belonging as you connect the people around you together with fun. I’ve seen you work this magic, and know you do it to cheer people up or to help create an “us.” Your ease with yourself invites others to chill out and drop their postures. (I imagine you running through your dorm with a pick in your hair and a tutu on, dropping beats or singing Frozen tunes at the top of your lungs.)

Every thought of you (well…most thoughts of you), bring deep-seated joy. You are more fabulous than any human we hoped to create. I know that is ridiculous, but it’s true. Even when you make terrible choices, I know you know how the wrong happened and why you should stop. Even when you call me out on my bullshit, which you do liberally and often, I’m amazed that you even noticed. You pay attention, and you use what you find for good. Your mix of tomfoolery and deep perceptiveness are remarkable to me. Here are a few tips in case you haven’t noticed them yet.

Get deep with your people, but keep expanding your us. Expect your friends to want to get into the weeds of your life with you, and be a person who will bear them up in struggle as well. Deep friends show up, they lean into the hard, and they simultaneously make absurd memories together. As you find your crew, use that energy to include others. You pay attention, and you notice the hierarchies in every room. I’ve seen you call out injustice and gather in the outsider. Keep being that guy. Keep reaching outside of you to connect with others. Keep using humor to draw people in, choosing to welcome instead of exclude. You are mostly comfortable in your own skin, which means you enjoy a privilege that eludes others daily. Use your sense of belonging to welcome others, knowing you limit yourself when you exclude them. You are powerful within, and you need others to make sense of this life.

Seek wisdom, but keep trusting your instincts. You were born to 2 parents who were in over their heads. We often needed, asked for and received wisdom. Even in our ignorance, we carried some skepticism about “the way things are done.” You are entering an adult world that privileges money, whiteness and men. Reject that mess and be better. When you see a person who understands justice, follow them around until they teach you. Pursue voices of color, voices from other countries, voices of women, voices from different walks of life. If you follow the status quo, you will support systems that hurt people. If you keep score by that standard, you will win, but know this: You can’t win that game without crushing others. Instead, choose to make things right for those around you. You have an instinct for equity, and you know how to step aside to make room for others. Keep being that guy, and shatter the systems that pick winners and losers.

Take yourself seriously, and don’t take yourself seriously. As you and your friends love to remind me, “We’re adults now. What are you gonna do?” First of all: I disagree. To the point though, you are, in fact, an adult! You are right. So, own your shit. This phrase is cross-stitched in our kitchen, and I hope you will bury it deep within. For good and for bad, own all of it. Everything matters from here on out. Every experience helps you find your core, your voice, your habits, your presence, your passion. You are becoming the person you will be. AND, you very likely will never reach the stage where you have arrived. You are aiming for a target that is not there. Don’t take yourself too seriously. Failure is the stuff, and blowing something up teaches you an awful lot about who you are and what you’ll go to bat for.  Take a lil piece of your dad (“chill out, it’ll be okay”) and a lil piece of me (“everything matters! if you don’t care, who will?”), and find your path between ours.

Marshall Josiah, you got the best of us and the worst of us. You were born into a lot of uncertain, fumbling absurdity, but we found our way! We honestly adore you and we believe in the way you are walking down the road you have chosen. I pray you will find truth to anchor you when you fail spectacularly. I pray you will trust the voice inside as the voice of God, your Maker. I pray you will embrace stillness, silence and solitude as you practice the presence of God’s love in your life. I pray you will receive the grace of daily bread and new beginnings that Jesus offers you. I pray you will realize your story is connected to many others, and your life is best used in serving your community. I pray you will love God, and love others, every day, on purpose.