But something funny has happened to me in the past few months. Maybe it was the cancer. Or the weird pills. Or my mom's death. Or DT, though I'm loathe to give him credit for anything but the Tums in my cabinet.
Whatever the reason, I don't find myself needing as much praise as I used to desire. I mean, it's not like I made a business of it, but I have always liked to keep the peace and, if possible, I like for people to think mostly positively about me at the end of the day. But now? Now, I'm okay if we have our differences. And I might not even lose a lot of sleep if it turns out I've ticked off a person or two. I've told myself this is a sign of real personal growth.
Back to those kids in the photo, though. After all, I'm just retirement-in-waiting. But they are the future, thank God.
Let's start with Eric Carlson Holt, the older--and hairier--one.
Eric, first of all, I'm sorry. Dad and I knew crap when you were born. I mean, two days after we took you home, Paula Buckner had to gently tell us that the reason Dad was doing three loads of laundry a day was that we hadn't bought plastic pants to put over those cloth diapers. So much for saving the earth! But--to your credit--a few months later, Paula also said that you'd had too many Happy Meals. And that was true. You were calm and steady and joyful. And--thank God!--you slept like a narcoleptic on Benadryl.
Given that I knew absolutely nothing about bringing a human into the world, you were the perfect person to learn on.
And now?
Oh, my God.
You are creative and deep and smart and so very compassionate. And I kind of feel bad that you became a teacher. Not because you aren't good--you are very good. But because you feel this world so intensely. And teaching is such an intense job. Sometimes, we worry that its intensity takes a toll on you. I suppose that, in our own fumbling, inadequate ways, dad and I still want to protect you.
But we also want to set you free upon this earth. Because you make it such an interesting and better place.
And your sister? Yeah, we love Allison Shepard Holt deeply, too.
Allison, you and I share something in common that you may not have realized. Because young spirits died before both of us came along, we share a template set in luck. To be born of luck that is set upon the back of hardship is no small thing, believe me.
Beyond the luck that accompanies you, Dad and I are nuts about you. I love the stupid things you and dad do together--I think it's awesome that you two have routines, interests and joys that you share.
Smart, diligent, and weirdly funny, we like seeing what you bring to this world. We also like that you don't suffer fools. And--full disclosure--we're really glad you don't take a lot of naps any more. Or at least that you don't take them at our house!
I am so happy, daughter, that you love this earth as much as I do. Who'da thunk such a beautiful woman wouldn't hesitate to hop into a creek or eat a bug, just to delight and horrify us?!
And dad and I love that you want to be a storyteller for a living. You have learned how to use the tools of your trade to tell beautiful stories. And believe me when I say that this world has never needed beautiful stories more than it needs them now. So, go and tell them. Hundreds of them, if you are up for the task. And we are certain that you are.
As for the rest of you? You're welcome.
