Love Letter to My Son

Cameron, my son, sat in his middle school gymnasium for an awards ceremony, reading a book. “The Great Reckoning” by Louise Penny, was his latest literary venture. He just started it. It will take him a week or two to read it. I don’t know how he reads so fast, but it’s a gift. He was a day away from being finished with middle school, with high school looming. Everyone in his 8th grade class was at this assembly.

Would he be getting an award? Athletics? Naw...he’s a scrawny kid about 5’8 in height, and a shade over 100 pounds. He doesn’t play sports, but not because he doesn’t want to. The kid has been in eight or nine casts in the last two years. He breaks everything. He stubbed his toe going into the kitchen one time….except he didn’t stub his toe like you and I stub our toes. He broke his. He’s too brittle to play contact sports or sports that include any kind of ball.

Ok, so grades. That would be his ticket to an award. His grades are decent. He gets 2 or 3 A’s, 2 or 3 B’s, and a C or two thrown in there. Nothing that will blow anyone out of the water. What about citizenship? He’s a good kid, but quiet. I don’t know if he’d get noticed enough.

He looked up from his book, saw me, and gave me a little wave to go along with that grin of his that just lights up the world. Then the assembly began, and he put his book under his chair….

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Cameron was diagnosed on the Autism Spectrum around first or second grade. My wife Susie will know the dates better than I. Nothing severe, mind you. Most people don’t even notice. Heck, most people still don’t even know. We don’t broadcast it. He doesn’t shout it from the rooftops. There were noticeable quirks, if you paid attention. He didn’t look at you in the eye when you talked to him. When he was going through grade school, though, his teachers definitely noticed something was up. Noises that no other kid or teacher would notice, like a light bulb buzzing or the sound of chalk hitting the chalkboard, would irritate him. He would make loud noises in class, which would disrupt the flow of class. He wasn’t trying to get attention, but noises were his response to certain stimuli in the classroom. He’d make noises at home, too. His teachers complained that he never paid attention because he looked like he was in another world, even though he would answer their question correctly when they tried to catch him napping. He would get up to feel the air coming out of a fan or air conditioner. It satisfied some sensory need that he had to fill. He was very routine-oriented, watched the clock like a hawk, and would run to be first in line, because if he wasn’t first in line, the end of the world was nigh. He HAD to be first to get to the next class, or whatever the destination would be. I kind of understand it. I remember taking tests, and seeing one kid, then three kids, then three more turn in their papers. I’d start sweating. I’d rush, and probably make mistakes I wouldn’t otherwise make. I don’t know how he was feeling, but if it was what I was feeling to the nth degree, I could somewhat relate.

He would eventually need to have an Individualized Education Program, or IEP. The IEP included occupational therapy, and speech therapy. He loved to learn, and he did his homework, sometimes begrudgingly. His grades suffered, though. His report cards might have one A. a couple of B’s, and three or four C’s. Sometimes he would have a D. There were progress reports that would come home that would even have an F. We found that in addition to always wanting to be at the front of the line, he had to be the first one to turn in tests or classwork. Which meant he would write down whatever would come to mind. If he knew the answer right off the top of his head, great, but if it required any work to find the answer or figure out the answer, then it was tres mal.

Some of his teachers worked very well with him. Some didn’t. As time went on, he had to start taking tests in a room by himself. That way, he couldn’t see if anyone was turning their paper in before him, so he had no one to “beat.” We came up with ways to hide things in his desk for him to feel to help get that sensory input he needed. He was also getting additional occupational therapy outside of school. Miss Amanda stopped by once or twice a month, or we would take Cameron to her. His grades and behaviors slowly started improving.

Every new year came with an adaptation period. He doesn’t handle change very well. Getting rid of old furniture was almost akin to saying goodbye to a friend forever. Getting used to a new teacher was tougher for him than most kids. He was used to how his previous teacher did things, whether he liked them or not. In 6th grade, he complained about his english teacher quite often. After the first quarter ended, we had an annual IEP meeting to see how he’s doing, and if any adjustments need to be made. We all decided it was best for him to change english teachers. We thought he’d be thrilled. We were wrong. He started making excuses for how gruff she was, or how hard she was on him, that it was ok and he didn’t mind it. But he eventually handled the change, and adapted.

At the same time, we had him assigned to a class geared toward giving certain kids extra help in areas they are struggling in all of their classes. It was called his resource class. Things really started taking a turn for the better once he started in this class. He grew more confident in himself. He started helping kids if the two teachers were tied up.

Seventh grade came, and Cameron’s grades shot up. No more D’s. Hardly any C’s. Therapy had been receiving was sliced, and he continued to succeed. By the end of the year, his teachers were recommending that he didn’t even need resource class anymore because he was doing so well. He didn’t like the sound that, so we let him stay in it.

Eighth grade started out a little rough as each new year does, but it was the best start out of all his school years. Therapy is completely gone. Resource class is still on. In the IEP meeting this year, it was again suggested that he really doesn’t need to be in it, but due to the big changes that come with high school, he was offered to stay in it for his freshman year to help adjust. As we started picking out classes for high school, the issue of his resource class came up. He looked me in the eye, and told me that he didn’t want to take it, that he would be fine. We didn’t try to talk him out of that decision. He finished eighth grade with five A’s, one B, and one C for the fourth quarter. His best quarter yet. We know he’ll be fine.

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An hour later, Cameron was still sitting, waiting to see if his name would be called. He would see some kids go up three or four times during this hour, collecting awards right and left. He politely clapped for them all. He smiled when he saw his friend Natalie go up for the third time, probably wanting to shout “Allons-y” to his Dr. Who friend. He grinned as his friend Sarah, with whom he shares a birthday, go up multiple times. He clapped a little extra when his big, lumbering friend John went up for the first time. He watched his old friend Savannah go up a few times. They don’t talk as much anymore, but when they were in second grade, she was invaluable to Cameron...and to my wife and I. She helped tie his shoes, and basically be a mother to him while at school. Then she moved away….and back again! He continued to clap as he watched his peers go up, one after another. Awards for academic achievements were given out, but Cameron’s name wasn’t called. Citizenship awards were distributed, but there wasn’t one with Cameron’s name on it. If they only knew…

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It’s cliche to say, “I wouldn’t be where I am today without so-and-so.” I mean it though, I literally wouldn’t be where I am today without Cameron. My desire to learn more about my Catholic faith kicked in about four years ago. Cameron had just finished fourth grade. The start of his summer vacation saw him fulfill something he had been waiting for all school year: to be a server during Mass. Our young associate pastor at the time, Fr. Michael Grosch, taught him everything he needed to know over a few days. On that final day, he told Cameron he would put him in the rotation, and concluded by offering to Cameron to serve daily Mass if he wanted to practice in front of a smaller congregation. I’m sure he said this hoping he’d say yes, but expecting us to say something along the lines of, “Well OK, we will think about that” and never come. But Cameron turned to me right away and said, “Can you bring me, Dad?” I would be failing immensely as a father, even more than I already do, if my kid was begging to go to daily Mass, and I told him no for what would have to be a selfish reason. What kid WANTS goes to daily Mass? I couldn’t say no. So we went. Every day that summer, we went to daily Mass. He would stand up there with a big smile on his face, every Mass. 4 years later, he’s still up there smiling. The kid just exudes happiness, and it rubs off on everyone he meets. Fellow parishioners come up to me and my wife often, and the conversation goes something like this:

Parishioner: “Excuse me, is that your son serving?”

Me: “Yes it is.”

Parishioner: “We just love seeing that smile on his face. It makes us so happy to see a young person so excited to serve during Mass. He is a joy.”

It really is special to see the love of Christ show through his smile, and the impact it has.

He has taken that desire to serve in other areas of his life, as well. Besides serving Mass, he volunteers to help at various activities at our parish. He’s helped decorate the church for Christmas and Easter. He’s helped clean up at different parish buildings. He’s helped babysit kids during various functions. He’s helped at fish fry’s. He also helps when no one is looking, like the time he asked to go with me to help clean up after tornadoes had ravaged the area. He always wants to go with me to help people in need. He helps babysit our friend’s Karen and Jim’s adopted toddler son when Karen is in need. He doesn’t know it, but he’s showing Christ to others, and seeing Christ in those in need.

Going to Mass everyday lit a fire that my soul was yearning for. Since then, I’ve taken many classes to learn more about my Catholic faith, I’ve sponsored two people as they entered the Church through our Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults (or RCIA, from which I learned more than I ever knew while I sat in with my confirmandi), and by the grace of God, was able to kick a vice that I had been struggling with for years. Am I perfect? Far, far, far from it. I still have a ton of room to improve, but I am a better husband to my wife, a better father to my kids, and a better Christian today than I was four years ago and it may not have happened if that little boy hadn’t turned to me to ask if I could take him to Mass every day over that summer four years ago

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The award ceremony was almost over. The principal was getting ready to hand out the last awards, which were bronze, silver, and gold medals based on grade point average, how many clubs the student participates in after school, and attendance. During the bronze medal portion, Cameron’s name was finally called. My mother, and Susie’s mom and dad and I all gave him a little cheer. It was for students with a GPA of 3.0 or more, who participate in at least one club, and have only missed the equivalent of about 3 or 4 days of school. Cameron quickly walked up, allowed the principal to put the medal around his neck, sheepishly shaked the principal’s hand, and briskly walked back to his seat. I recorded it and sent it to Susie right away so she could see her boy get his award as she worked, taking care of children.

After the assembly, he walked over to me and the three grandparents, looked down and said, “I’m sorry I only got one.” What? Sorry? Sorry for what? He can’t possibly think I’m disappointed, can he? Immediately, my heart broke, and my eyes filled with tears. “Son,” I told him, lip quivering frantically, “you have nothing to be sorry for. You did an awesome job this year, and you’ve come so far over the last few years. The school doesn’t even know what you do at church. Heck, church doesn’t even know about things you do away from church. You’d have raked in the awards if they knew everything about you. But son, the awards don’t even matter. I am so proud of you!” We all engulfed him in hugs, tears streaming down all our faces. Not because he was bummed, but because he doesn’t know how proud we are of him. He thought he let us down. I didn’t even care about the medal. Come to think of it, when he first came over, I didn’t even look at it. I was just waiting to wrap that boy up in my arms and tell him how proud I was of him, of all the improvements he made over the years to get to this point.

Once we were done, he was back in school routine mode. “Well, I have to go to class. I have a final.” We told each other “I love you,” and he was off. Even though every other kid was standing around taking as long as they could before they went back, he, for some reason, can’t wait to get to what’s next.

As we left, I was still tearing up, telling my mom how proud I was of him, to which she agreed, equally teary. On my way to work, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I bawled my eyes out. I can only recall crying harder one or two other times: my wedding day (very happy) and my father’s funeral (very sad). I didn’t even know what I was feeling. Was I happy? Sad? I think it was a mix of both. Happy, mentally running through his life and where he was a few years ago, and where he is now. Sad, that he thought he let me down, and a little bummed that this little kid….isn’t much of a little kid anymore. He’s growing into a young man. A better young man than I was at his age. He’s got a great, clean sense of humor. He’s naive, which some may think that’s a con, but I love that about him. I think we’re supposed to be trusting, and not skeptical of EVERYTHING, and that’s what he is: trusting. He’s very smart. Straight A’s, maybe not, but the boy loves to read and learn, and remembers the most mundane details. It was showing in these final few weeks, when he was coming home with the best test grade in the class seemingly every week. He reads textbooks for fun. Seriously, we were at an antique store a couple months back, and he bought a textbook on the American Revolution for a few bucks. Finally, he’s got a huge heart. He is fiercely loyal to his friends and family, and loves to be around them, and will do whatever he can not to let them down. It is hard to be in a bad mood around him, because he won’t let you. That smile alone can bring anyone out of a sorry state, and if it doesn’t, he will pull out all the stops to make you laugh. He cares so much for his sister, it annoys her. Siblings aren’t supposed to love each other that much, right? They’re supposed to fight, and complain about each other, and get on each other’s nerves. Why does he tell her that he loves her 10 times a day? What is wrong with this kid? Absolutely nothing. It’s how I need to be, how we should all be.

So, to my son, thank you. I am so proud of you. Thank you for being so happy and full of life, in a world that sometimes seems consumed with sadness and death. Thank you for smiling. Thank you for trying to wear out the phrase “I love you,” although Jesus, I’m sure, doesn’t think you can say it too many times, so keep it up. Thank you for hugging. Thank you for always wanting to help people. Thank you for being a goofball. Thank you for asking me questions about our faith. Thank you for asking me what 2 + 2 is almost every time I call from work. It makes me smile. Thank you for calling me out when I’m not doing a great job of being a father. Thank you forgiving me. Thank you for apologizing when you are in the wrong. It takes a lot of courage and humility to apologize and admit you were wrong. Thank you for being a mama’s boy. I’d rather you love and honor your mother too much than not enough. Thank you for loving your sister so much, even if it gets on her nerves sometimes. Thank you for always trying to make me proud. But son, you don’t have to try. I’ve always been proud of you, and it just grows everyday as I see you grow in faith, and effort. I pray you continue to grow in effort, because if you try your best, you will do well in whatever it is you are focused on. I also pray you continue to grow in faith. Pray. The more you pray, the more grounded you will be in Christ, who is all good. I thank God for the gift….of you, son. I love you.

Love,

Dad