Letter to Someone You Want to Tell Everything To But Cant

Baby Boy,

I want to tell you everything, but I cant.

I fear that thirty-five-year old truths would be too much for your thirteen-year old mind. Mature, you are, but I still stand strong in my reserved parental right to shield you from as much as possible, to allow you to believe in things like dreams ….. and fairies …… and mama’s perfection, for just a little while longer. There will be time enough for heartbreak, disappointment and confusion, trust me. Very soon, there will be little I can do to protect you from it, so please excuse my selfishness, as I hold for dear life to your last remnants of innocence, before they are gone forever.

When I see you are ready, I will slowly introduce you to some of the realities of life, and sit you down for explanations of realities you are beginning to experience in your own. You are already beginning to see what I mean when I say certain things. I dread the day you no longer need explanation, indicating that you are all too familiar, and nothing of the innocence remains.

One day you will hopefully see for yourself that no matter what anybody else will try to tell you, being a parent is the hardest job you will ever have. The balance between preparing children for life and shielding them from it is the Big Foot of parenthood – the thing you don’t know if you will ever find, but never stop looking for. I hope, when you enter those times, you reflect on things your mama said, and realize the fight we won was bigger than you and me both.

Love, Mom