Dear World

Dear World,

I bequeath to you today one little boy ... in a crisp striped shirt ... with two brown eyes ... and a happy laugh that ripples all day long and a flash of soft brown hair that bounces in the sunlight when he runs. I trust you'll treat him well.

He's slipping out of the backyard of my heart this morning ... and skipping off down the street to his first day of school. And never again will he be completely mine. Prim and proud he'll wave his young and independent hand this morning and say "Good Bye"... and walk with little man steps to the schoolhouse.

Now he'll learn to stand in line ... and wait by the alphabet for his name to be called. He'll learn to tune his ears to the sounds of school-bells ... and deadlines ... and he'll learn to giggle ... and gossip ... and look at the ceiling in a disinterested way when the little girl across the aisle sticks out her tongue at him.

And now he'll learn to be jealous. And now he'll learn how it is to feel hurt inside. And now he'll learn how not to cry.

No longer will he have time to sit on the front porch steps on a summer day and watch an ant scurry across the crack in a sidewalk. Nor will he have time to pop out of bed with the dawn to kiss lilac blossoms in the morning dew.

No, now he'll worry about important things.

Like grades ... and what clothes to wear ... and who's best friend is whose. And the magic of books and learning will replace the magic of his toys and tractors.

And now he'll find new heroes.

For five full years now I've been his sage and Santa Claus and pal and playmate and mother and friend. Now he'll learn to share his worship with his teachers ... which is only right. But, no longer will I be the smartest woman in the whole world.

Today when that school bell rings for the first time ... he'll learn what it means to be a member of a group. With all it's privileges. And it's disadvantages too.

He'll learn in time that proper young men do not laugh out loud. Or kiss dogs. Or keep frogs in pickle jars in bedrooms. Or even watch ants scurry across cracks in the summer sidewalk.

Today he'll learn for the first time that all who smile at him are not his friends. And I'll stand on the front porch and watch him start out on the long, lonely journey to become a man.

So, World. I bequeath to you today one little boy ... in a crisp striped shirt ... with two brown eyes and a happy laugh that ripples all day long ... and a flash of soft brown hair that bounces in the sunlight when he runs. I trust you'll treat him well.


(adapted from the essay by Dan Valentine)