Yeah, you are “the Small Guy” because in my eyes, at least for another year or two, you are still “small” in every way. You are not as small as a year ago, or even as yesterday, sure, but in the general scheme of things you are small. And "perfect in every way", as you would say about polar bears. Or cats. Or owls.
When people ask me to describe you, I just sigh a deep sigh. How can I fit such a huge (physically small) personality into just a few words? There are no words ...
I say things like: Kevin is amazingly ... his own person. He is 12 going on 50! Before anything, he is wise beyond his years, self-possessed and he has a deep sense of who he is and where his life is going. Before anything, it takes loads of effort to impress him. Even at 12, he will tell you in no ambiguous terms how lame you are, or how sexist, or blind you are at the diversity of the world around you. How careless and messy you are when you can’t pick up after yourself.
He’ll tell you how much you still have to learn about the world around you. He will scold you like you’re the child and he’s the grown-up. He is cool and collected as well as passionate and irate. He frowns upon your every lame move and breaks into song and cheer completely unprompted and unannounced. He is not one thing or another. He is never one-note and boring. He is a constant wonder and a constant guess ...
He knows what he likes (books, animals, food, comfort, among too many other things to enumerate), he knows what he is about (serious, punctual, reliable, hard working, more responsible than the adults around him sometimes), and he also knows what he’s not about and what he hates (being told what to do, waking up too early in the morning, boiled broccoli, people talking too much around him when all he wants is quiet time).
And that, dear Kev, is where you lose me: I wonder whether our blood is truly flowing through your little veins when you complain about people talking too much around you. But it must be, because you’re the spitting image of your grandfather, so I know better.
I also tell people about your incredible talent to carry on interesting conversations about anything, your amazing knowledge about animals, plants, anything that lives. Your interest in understanding the living world around you, your maturity, about your being kind and caring and protecting towards our planet and our environment ...
Discovering you every year, seeing you grow and explore the world, watching you sift through everything that the world throws at you and choosing what it makes sense to you, choosing what gives you pleasure, what grounds you, what makes you whole is a privilege I will be forever grateful for. I love all your discoveries, from your new axolotl pet, to the fact that you love coffee so much (you’re definitely in the right family there!), to the fact that you read more than I ever do and that you can carry on a conversation with the vocabulary of a college student already.
Just like you noticed a couple of months back, the past year “tried you” with all sorts of bad happenings. I wish you a much, much better year ahead, full of happiness, joy, and overflowing with beauty, kindness and every good wish you have for yourself. And never forget your strength!
When I am at my saddest, I will always remember Christmas morning at my house last year: when you slipped on your PJ’s and your flannel robe, you poured your coffee and made a half-serious and stern face, half-goofball and joker (just like your grandpa) and demanded a picture by the tree, saying something like: “Let’s get into my robe and take a picture looking like a retired old dad.”
Thank you for giving me a front-row seat at this wonderful journey you call your life. I know it will never be boring ... Love you, sweet Kevs!
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