Dear Matteo, 61 Months Old

This has been a summer of chasing each other and chasing whales.

I mean both quite literally. You and Eliza have gained a lot of foot speed. You claimed recently that you’re faster than me, likely confused by the games of tag around the playground where I can’t bend beneath every slide. I challenged you to a foot race to the mailbox the other day and smoked you just to settle the argument. Eliza is also a faster runner than you, for the moment, and gaining the upper hand in the water. I’m not sure how much longer I can beat her in a pool race. I won’t be able to hold the land or water speed titles for much longer.

With all the time spent at Harstine Island and near Fox Island, your Mom has picked up a new passion of tracking killer whales, also known as orcas. A few times now, your Mom has looked up suddenly from her phone and said, “There are orcas by Fox Island bridge!” or “There are orcas at Pickering Passage!” And as if she pulled a fire alarm, we drop everything, march out the door and head to our destination.

I haven’t been fortunate enough to see them but you and Eliza had a couple enounters these past weeks, once from the Harstine Island boat launch and again from a stand-up paddleboard off our community beach at Hartstene Pointe. Your Mom caught the second event on video, and you can be seen and heard screaming in delight while bagpipes played in the background, allegedly calling the orcas.

I wish I was there, but I didn’t have to be. What makes me happy is knowing that you get to have these experiences because of where and how your Mom and I raise you. That’s the good stuff.

Keep chasing whales. While you’re looking, I’ll knot your shoelaces so you can’t beat me at the next race.

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 81 Months Old

The temps are finally in the 80s here, and we’re doing all things that looks, smell and feel like summer:

Summer camps, beach time, pool time, cabin time, vacation time (Lake Whatcom), kayaking, backyard berry picking, lavendar cutting, etc.

But before all of that, you graduated from Kindergarten.

This is a big deal. You made it through your first complete school year. You only have 18-26 more school years to go, depending on your academic route. As you may recall, your Mom and I were pretty emotional sending you off on the school bus the first day. That’s a parenting milestone to celebrate that we got you to this first stage of independence.

You have lived a slice of life that we don’t know about, other than the sparse stories you tell us. You have a large group of friends, many that you still get to see around the neighborhood. That’s a gift of public school I never enjoyed. It was always car trips for me to see school friends. You have games and songs and jokes that you teach us that came from the school community you’re a part of. These are the networks that help shape who you become and who could become lifelong friends. Remember that I met Uncle Scott in elementary school.

We’re also glad to have you back for the summer. Don’t take the summer camps that started almost immediately as reason we want to send you off again. Human beings can only handle so much parenting without breaks. It’s great to see you more hours of the day, share more experiences and just get to know you more. Candidly, I felt like I got to know Matteo a lot better this past year because we had so much time with him in half-day Pre K. It was his turn to get all the parenting attention that you got before he came around.

I know that Kindergarten isn’t just social growth, it’s intellectual. All those previously unidentifiable shapes around you exploded into your vision as letters, numbers and symbols that you’re constantly reading them and connecting the world. You love reading Dr. Seuss books and have gotten over the frustration when you don’t know a word, previously focused on perfection a little more than practice. Math has also taken a hold and you’re especially proud that you know 9+9 is 18. Counting in tens came to you much earlier.

You’ve inspired Matteo to count well into the hundreds and he adorably asks you to read to him sometimes, chowing down on some snacks he brought into bed. Those are the moments when I wonder, “How much longer will these kids need us?” You can get in and out of the house just fine, feed yourselves, navigate all electronic devices and take care of the animals. The only thing preventing you from driving is height. You’re so in tune with your routine that you remind us that we didn’t remind you to brush your teeth at night.

All of this adds up to a really fun time parenting phase. I hope it’s a long summer.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 60 Months Old

Happy 5th birthday, Matteo! I have been waiting for this birthday for many months because I am convinced you were 4 years old for far too long. Seriously, it felt like two years. You developed so much in height, strength, articulation, and ideas you outgrew your age by months. Age 5 looks better on you. Fit matters.

This birthday you’ve enjoyed a flood of gifts, mostly in the Monster Jam and dinosaur categories. I chose to go religious-sentimental-nostalgic, gifting you a gold-plated chain and cross that came in a special Amazon-vendor provided small box with solicitation for a 5-star review.

The reason I got you this chain is because I proudly wore my own up through about 2nd or 3rd grade. The story of my chain was that it included a medallion from Italy that my Nonna procured. Or so I was told. That medallion could have come from Italy or could have been made in a penny presser at the Woodland Park Zoo, but regardless it had a face of Jesus and I thought it was incredible. The chain broke many times over the short years and was replaced by several chains Aunt Nina didn’t know she had. The only reason I stopped wearing the medallion was because it finally became lost on the school playground.

I wasn’t sure if you’d like the gift and failed to convince your Mom that I needed my own chain to encourage you to wear yours. She allows you a wider aperture of style than I get to enjoy. That didn’t matter because you took right to it and immediately identified the cross as a small sword or gold lightsaber, which is about right because we spend more Sundays at ski resorts, pools or trails than we do churches.

Coincidentally, you and Eliza just finished a first week of “vacation bible school,” which I learned is church-subsidized summertime daycare. It’s another reason to love the church. Upon seeing the cross, Eliza unexpectedly announced, “Jesus died for our sins on the cross and came back to life after three days.” That superb recall solicted curious conversation about why the cross was made of wood and not gold, how Jesus came back to life and if Santa helped with the miracle. These are legitimate questions that I gracefully navigated by confirming the cross materials and how Santa and Jesus are co-conspirators who make a big deal out of Jesus’s birthday. Existential crisis solved.

I’m not sure how long this cross and chain will last. Maybe you’ll decide not to wear it, or maybe you’ll lose it to some playground like I did. Maybe it will never be a religious token to you but it will be cultural to me. You’re an Italian-American boy and, like teething on pizza crust, playing soccer, and being devilshly charming, wearing a chain is just part of the program. Buon compleanno, bello!

Love, Dad

Dear Eliza, 80 Months Old

Dear Eliza, 

I wrote this letter to you a couple of week back feeling sad, angry, and helpless. I had to get my thoughts down in the moment as a way to process it for myself. Here we go.

___

This is the second consecutive week of a mass shooting. There are more mass shootings than days on the calendar. 

This news hits close to home. Not physically close as the incident occurred in Uvalde, Texas, but close because it happened at an elementary school. You and Matteo were home from school today with a bad head cold, and I couldn’t have been more grateful to have you at home, in my sight.

I know you practice drills at school for these unspeakable events, and I know you can’t easily comprehend why. I suppose I can relate to earthquake drills in my time. The difference is that earthquakes are rare, not a daily occurrence, and they’re an act of God, not man. 

It’s hard to comprehend the idea that school isn’t a safe place to be. Growing up as a white boy in the Pacific Northwest and attending a private elementary school sheltered me from a lot of the world and provided real physical safety. I traded some perceived safety for an expanded worldview, thankfully attending a public Tacoma high school. Although I got some personal items stolen, that experience was still reasonably safe. 

This is a tough time to be a parent on so many fronts. Pandemic and vaccines. Online bullying. Gun violence. It’s hard enough being a parent without these factors. We waited so long in an IVF journey to bring you into the world, and questioned if you would ever come. The fact that parents are losing their children so soon because of racism, prejudice and ineffective policies is shattering. 

I spoke with a colleague and mom of teenagers about parenting. She wisely said that you never stop worrying about your kids. You just worry about different things as they grow. The labor shifts from being physical - chasing after young kids for their well-being and safety - to emotional - worrying about what they do on their own, out of sight.

The labor of this parenting generation includes a new layer of worry about what total strangers may be capable of doing while your kids are out of sight, or just at school.

Like with environmental protection, gun violence is the responsibility of my generation to inherit and make positive changes. I hope we do our job for you.

Love, Dad

Dear Matteo, 59 Months Old

Guess what? You graduated from pre-K.

You say “guess what” constantly to get attention and start communicating about whatever is your mind. As it turns out, you’re also a budding poet. Here’s your poem that your teacher read at your “Moving on” ceremony:

I am an Italian boy.
I love watching shows.
I wonder about my kitty.
I need lots and lots of food!
I dream of Monster Jam!
I feel like sometimes I am mad, or sad, or happy.
I hope my kitty grows up.
When I grow up I want to be a Monster Jam driver.
I am an Italian boy.

You are clear and consistent in that literary self portrait.

Some of the biggest joys of parenting come in cliches, like graduations. It’s unavoidable to feel emotion about the conclusion of something and the start of something. The pride is expected and uncontrollable.

Next school year, you’ll be in full day kindergarten, taking the bus to school with your sister five days a week. For your Mom and me, this is the last of a routine hanging out just with you. It was a great run, and I’ll miss you running into my office during one of my video meetings to ask where Luna is hiding. Clothing always optional.

Congratulations on your graduation my Italian boy!

Love, Dad