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A letter to my son on his sixth birthday.
My dearest Chickoo,
I see you tear away the wrappers and gush over the simple presents you have received from your friends on your sixth birthday. And I think back to the last time my friends gifted me something. It was a long time ago, and it was a gift called friendship.
I see you running, jumping and squealing along with your friends as you play hide and seek at home. And I think back to the time I used to be so carefree, so totally living in the moment.
I see you wail because you got bruised on your knee. And I think about the bruises – seen and unseen – I have gotten in the past. But when, the next minute, you jump up and start playing again, I learn that bruises can be forgotten. For sure they will heal, if only we let them.
I see you open the doors of our home to your friends, who come calling at all times of the day and night. And I learn that it is when you open the doors of your heart that your life will be filled with light and laughter.
I hear you complain about a friend who said something bad about you. You are hurt and are grieving. As I explain that the friend did not really mean it, but that she said it in a moment’s anger, I feel as if I am explaining this to myself.
I wake up hearing you say something in your sleep. I smile, when I realize that you are dreaming. And I suddenly remember that I haven’t dreamt of anything in a long time.
I feel the crush of your hug when I pick you up from school. And I feel the bite of hot tears in my eyes.
I could go on like this until you turn seven, but I will stop now.
Thanks Chickoo, for showing me the way.
By the way, I suddenly realized that, along with you, I have turned six today too.
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