To My Sons

Ignore my ginormous hand.  It's all perspective people.

 I grew up in a family of all girls, (with the exception of my father) until my little brother was born when I was 13.  18 months later, another girl followed.

**my dad always used to say that it was his daughters that gave him gray hair, and that if he ever had a boy, it would go jet black again.  Let's just say, that didn't happen.  He claims it was because the damage was too extensive for just one boy to repair.

Having never had an older brother, I always wanted my children to have one.  I remember one friend in high school complaining that her older brother made her go upstairs and change her shirt because it was too low.  She hated it.  I loved the idea behind it.  When we found out Cade was a "he" I couldn't have been more excited.

**I would have loved a girl too.  Don't get me wrong.  Having been the oldest girl, there are plenty of advantages and cute stuff there too.

Jackson, Cade, and Noah (cousin)

Being their mother, I have high expectations for them.  But I look at the world around, and I'm scared.  I may be somewhat jaded, but it seems to me that more boys know how to pretend kill people than to fix a bike tire.  Fewer men graduate from college now than women, and remember these statistics that I talked about?

I want my sons to know what being a "man" truly is.  My heart aches for the first time that they'll be told they're dumb, or stupid, or not good enough, or even just not enough.  I want to keep them all wrapped up in a tiny bubble of innocence without exposing them to the ugliness that there is in life (but then they'd miss out on all the good too...dang it).

I can't be there with them in the locker room after practice (I may not know exactly what goes on there, but I can well imagine).  I can't make them want to work hard and support a family.  I can't make them be kind and gentle.  I can't make them be respectful.

**this is very hard for me to accept.  I am a very codependent person, and have a hard time letting go of control.  I want to control everything that might affect me (or is it effect?), to avoid any chances of getting hurt. 

All I can do is hope.teach.and pray.  Lots.  Multiple times a day.  That my sons will grow up to be men.  True men.  Ones who don't need to put others down to make themselves feel good.  Who are humble without being self-deprecating.  Who know how to provide and take pleasure in doing so.  (I'm not asking much am I?)  Who know how to change the oil in the car and fix a broken toy.

So, Cade and Jackson, know this.  The world will say that real men are tough, all the time.  But they're also stupid.  They must enjoy drinking beer, farting, BBQ, sexy cheerleaders, and golf.  They are helpless unless their long-suffering wives fix something for them (just watch commercials and you'll see exactly what I'm talking about), if they get married at all.

Sons, I want you to know that real men can enjoy BBQ, golf, and football.  Real men can be tough, but they can/should also cry.  Real men are not stupid.  They are equal partners in a marriage.  Real men are not domineering, but they are not cowed either.  Real men pray.  They turn their lives over to their Heavenly Father and let Him make them and mold them into who they should be.  Real men laugh, but know when to be serious.  And finally, real men love, unselfishly.

**I apologize for the disorganizedness of my last couple posts.  There's just been a lot of thoughts that I've had (and I've realized that I've had even more as I've started writing more often) and I want to get them down.  Because I'm not being graded on this (haha) I just write them down as they come.