Wes was born during a full moon on winter solstice. If any kid deserves a birthday with mystical gravitas, it’s him. He loves the mythology that culminates at the solstice. Right now, he’s reading about the Norse gods. He appreciates the significance and he always has. Which is weird, because he’s only nine. Lots of things about Wes are unusual, but not only because of his age.
When he was very, very young we, as many parents did, used to spell things to each other when we didn’t want our children to understand. Because that took forever, we quickly switched to another method where we used the fanciest or most pretentious words for mundane things. Here’s an example. “If you’re amenable, let’s assemble and venture for provisions.” We meant, “If it’s cool with you, let’s go to the store.” That stopped working around the time Wes was three.
I love to watch people who don’t know Wes very well have their first conversation with him. I collect their facial expressions. Holy shit, this kid is for real. It reminds me of his sparkle because I am lucky enough to be around it all the time. It’s not just that he’s bright. Wes has the effortless weight of sincerity behind him. He has learned from the master communicators on both sides of the family tree. He knows how to make people feel heard.
But he’s a nine-year-old kid and he’s definitely not above a good five minute soliloquy on Beyblades while I’m trying to shower. He’s downstairs right now launching them into each of his five stadiums and rating their performance on a 1 to 5 scale to determine the best environments for each of his custom creations. He won’t forget what he learns.
He pretends with his whole body and imagines grand battles and heroic victory. Wes pours over books of beasts and delights in imagining creatures. His favorites are made of water and earth. They are defensive types that don’t start wars, but are more than happy to finish them.
He likes peace and balance. He’d rather not fight, but he feels things deeply. And he sees unfairness to others before he notices it on his own plate. The asterisk to this, of course, is Malcolm. His little brother, in the grand tradition, is a truly gifted pusher of his buttons. But in general, Wes doesn’t complain if he thinks it will hurt someone’s feelings. I worry that he won’t speak up for himself, but he hasn’t had that problem so far.
Wes is relentlessly positive, brave, and enthusiastic. He has ridiculously good hair. He writes amazing poetry and songs. He loves being on the robotics team. He is responsibly caring for his pet snake, the chickens, and the dog in the morning and is saving his allowance because he isn’t sure what he wants yet. He practices guitar without being reminded.
It’s difficult to be anyone’s parent, but I am lucky in the worry that being his mother brings. The pain and the privilege of raising you Wesley, is my worry that that world will change who you are. Everyone you meet will be better if it doesn’t. I love you, sweet boy. Happy birthday!
