Don’t listen to me

Dear J,

I picked you up from daycare today and you were on your tiny slide. You were going around backwards — you climbed up the slide-y part, then sat yourself at the top and tried to scoot down the stairs-y part.

I laughed and said you’re going backwards. You listened to me and turned around.

(By the way, when you slide, you’re supposed to say “Weeeeee!”)

You used to run to me when I picked you up because you were sad we left you there. Now that you’ve gotten more comfortable, the first thing you do when you see me is show me all the wonderful things you have done throughout the day. Usually by pointing and making your pointing sounds “eh!” “nh!” “uh!”

Sometimes you sit yourself in my lap and make me read the book you’re holding. Sometimes you show me the truck or pull-toy dog you’ve been playing with. Sometimes you show me the art you made that’s hanging by the window. Last week, you introduced me to all your friends. You pointed to each of them and told me their names.

Today, you showed me your slide.

Now that I’m starting to write these to you, there’s something important I want to tell you and I’d like you to listen closely.

It’s good that you don’t agree with everything I have to say. I’ll tell you why in a bit.

It’s October. It’s starting to get “cold” in California, and it is starting to rain again. I sometimes feel silly calling this rain, because I grew up in tropical weather like your mom. I’m used to thunderstorms and golf-ball-sized raindrops that knocked birds off trees.

If we haven’t already, remind me to take us somewhere you can experience this:

When I was little I was in awe of the power of the rain. I remember the booming sky and ominous clouds. The sky was alive like ink in water. The howling wind hurled cool waves of humid air. The raindrops smacked the large tropical leaves loudly and hammered the earth relentlessly, pounding sand into mud. Above your head, there’d be the soothing roar of raindrops exploding on the roof. You’d think the sound would be deafening, but it strangely isn’t.

Now and then, the sky flashes. Lightning! The electric feely fingers would stretch from the sky and ground. Then when they meet… POW! I’ve seen lightning split a tree open like a banana.

There were a few times I gave in to the urge to just run outside. (Without your grandpa or grandma knowing of course, or I would have gotten in trouble.) I wanted to feel the power of the rain. I wanted to absorb its energy. Think I’m nuts? Try it the next time you get a thunderstorm. Step outside, close your eyes, open your arms and take a deeeeeeep breath. Feel the wind shift your balance and listen. Feel how nature makes you afraid. Then laugh. Don’t tell me you won’t get at least an impish urge to run out too.

You could shout your loudest and still not hear yourself over the thunderstorm. And the thunder would shake the ground and rumble through your chest in reply. Everything gets wet, soaked and drenched. But there was that amazing… smell. Ozone. It smells like New Life.

I love the rain. And I miss it sometimes. But heavy rain also causes landslides and floods — that’s the bad part no one wants.

But you know what? As much as I like rain and gloomy days, your mom doesn’t. She prefers sunny days.

And that’s an important lesson — we’re all different.

We go about our lives in different ways. Who you are today is because of all the things you did yesterday. The opportunities you will have tomorrow is a result of what you do today.

Even when two people are in same place, at the same time, in the same situation, what happens next depends on all the choices you’ve made to lead you to that point… and the choice you will make next.

Okay, here’s an example. I can’t think of a funny one right now, so here’s an historically important one:

There was a woman by the name of Rosa Parks, who lived in a time when black people were not allowed to sit with white people. On December 1, 1955, she made a decision to do something that no other black person in her bus (or in all of America) had done before — she refused to give up her seat to a white passenger.

She was arrested… then quickly became an international icon of the Civil Rights Movement. Today, she’s known today as “the first lady of civil rights” and “the mother of the freedom movement.”

The point is your path is yours alone. Someone else’s opportunities aren’t yours. Be happy for them, but never envy them. Because you can never have them. You only have yours.

One of my greatest wishes for you is for you to discover your own path. Your own passion. To find what you love. Not what I — or anyone else — want you to love. But what you truly love.

(Hmmm… love. We’ll have to talk about that another time.)

Anyway, by the time you read this, I would have written about many things. I don’t know how it’ll work out, but I don’t want you to feel pressured to read all of it. You should definitely not feel pressured to listen to me.

All this could be ramblings of a crazy person, and you should be careful not to trust a crazy person (who just suggested that you run into a thunderstorm).

Just because I say something doesn’t mean you should do it. You should never do anything just because someone says you should, no matter how much you respect that person.

Everyone will tell you otherwise, but you must question authority. We are curious by nature and testing our limits and environment is how we learn. But, the biggest reason why you must always question convention is because the majority is always wrong.

Never forget this: if you want average results, do what the majority does. But if you want exceptional results, you must not do what the majority does.

Because the majority is always wrong. Never look to the masses for inspiration. They will always lead you away from your path. You may not care about this yet, and when you get older you may not agree with me, but I’m going to tell you this: there can be no big change or real progress when we leave anything up to the consensus of the majority. I’m not asking you to buy that right now — just trust that I’ll prove it later.

This is getting too serious, so I’ll stop here. It’s important though. I’ll come back to this another time.

By the way, that’s your favorite purple car in the video. You’ve started taking it with you everywhere. You’ve even taken it to bed, and whenever you remember it but don’t have it, you won’t stop asking us until you get it.

At least you’re starting to learn some manners. Here’s a conversation we had the other day:

You: “Purple car? Purple car? Purple car? Purple car? Purple car? Purple car? …”
Me: “Here it is.” I showed you I had it.
You smiled widely and ran stumbly to me.
Then you surprised me when you said, “Thank you,” as you turned and walked away.
I said, “You’re welcome.”
And you repeated, “Welcome!”

I looked at your mom and gave her the “Did you just see that?” look.
She did of course, quietly. And she had that proud mom smile on her face.

Love,
Dad

P.S. – This is your owl hat. It was cold in the morning so mama dropped you off at school with it. When I picked you up later you still had your owl hat on. You must have persuaded the teachers to let you wear it all day.

We had potty time and read your potty book with nothing but your owl hat on. I tricked you to let me have it for bath time but as soon as you were done with your bath you asked for it back. When it was time for bed you wanted to sleep with it. Bedtime routine took longer than usual but mama finally pried owl hat from your sweaty, stinky, sleepy head.

Remember in life there are ups and downs. Always smile, and when you slide down, you’re supposed to say “Weeeeee!”