An Open Letter to my Son Regarding Weeds

Dear Griffin,

We had an interesting experience the other day.  It first began while you were in school and I was grocery shopping.  As I am prone to do while waiting in line, I flipped through magazines.  One made me particularly sad.  There has been an ongoing saga regarding a famous actress who, after achieving the pinnacle of her professional career, found out that her husband had engaged in multiple extra marital affairs.  Now that is sad.  But worse, on this day, the magazines announced that just 3 1/2 months earlier they had begun the adoption of a sweet baby boy.  And now she is left, not only to pick up the pieces of a broken heart, but a broken family as well.  It sort of turned my stomach.  I can not understand nor pity that man.  He was so very wrong.  His incredibly poor behavior sat in a small part of my brain the rest of the day.

You, of course, know nothing of these grown up affairs.  You are in kindergarten studying ladybugs, which is just as it should be, and when you came home, I was outside pulling weeds.  It wasn't long before I saw you round the corner with my adult size work gloves on your hands.  "I want to help you, Mom," you so generously offered.

As you are prone to do, you attacked the job with gusto, talking the entire time.  "Woah!  That was a big one.  Yes!  Awesome, mom.  Look at those roots!"  You were full of constant observations, and some of them were pretty signficant.

You told me that sometimes weeds tried to trick you by looking like plants.

You told me that weeds were easier to pull when they were small.  The bigger we let them grow the harder it was to get them out.

You told me that it was easier to pull weeds when the ground was soft.

And while you talked I thought.  I thought about weeds, both in the garden and in our lives.  We all have them, and when we let them get really, really big, they can destroy everything good around us.  And I thought about you, and the kind of man, the kind of husband, the kind of father I hope you grow up to be.

I hope in your life you will recognize weeds for what they are.  I hope you get rid of them early, before they have the power to destroy you and those you love.  I hope your heart will always be soft so that you will listen to the Master Gardener, whose design is one of beauty, light, and joy.

Over dinner that night we talked about some of these things, but you are six and thinking of ladybugs, and that is just as it should be.  But one day, you will be a grown up dealing with grown up affairs.  For that day I'm recording this little experience, so you will remember, so that you will know that your mother has high hopes for you, my son.  And they don't have anything to do with fame or fortune or popularity or power.  I hope that you grow to be a man, a good man, a good husband, and a good father. 

Tend to your garden, my boy.
Your Loving Mother