Last week I posted about a letter I gave my son that expressed my unhappiness over an incident that took place not too long ago.
At the end of that post, I promised I would reveal what happened after he read my letter.
This post is me keeping that promise.
My Son Is Proof That God Has Heard
But before I do, a little background about my relationship with my firstborn.
He came into our lives in April 2009 and completely upended our world. Not in a bad way, but in many a “transfigurative” way! One of those ways was how (for us) he affirmed that persistent prayer yields results. We had been childless for nearly a decade before he was born. Other than doing all the things mortally possible — health checks, Eastern medicine, and intrauterine insemination — persistent prayers were what my wife and I still believe finally gave us the miracle we desperately sought.
Which is why my firstborn’s name (in Hebrew) meant “God has heard”.
Over these past 17 years of his existence, we’ve done almost everything together with him. In the initial years, he was the center of our universe (and us, his). He was the joy we woke up to and fell into deep slumber with at night in utter, sated exhaustion. I can say unequivocally that, other than God and my wife, J (and later his brother C) gave me every reason to strive to be a better son, spouse, dad, man.
In short, a better person.
All these years, I have loved him unconditionally. I’ve even, literally, gone out on a limb — or in our case, a window ledge some eight storeys high — for him! (Read that harrowing account here, in the section sub-titled “Overcome Fear, With Love”)
“Dad, Can I Talk To You?“
Over what is now 17 years of hands-on parenting, J and C have filled the lives of my wife and me in ways immeasurable.
That’s not to say of course that it was a sleigh ride all the way. Anyone who’s a parent understands how tough the journey of raising kids is. There are, more often than we care for, agonising moments that leave a parent in various states of anger, frustration, and yes even at times, pure and unadulterated rage.
Which led to the letter I wrote my son, as detailed in last week’s post.
The letter was written a couple of nights after the “cold war” between us (more instigated by me than him). I had decided that it was unhealthy to drag the distance between us any further, yet I was unwilling to talk to him face-to-face in case I lost my cool again like I did the first time.
After the letter was written, I left it next to his pillow and returned to my bedroom for a much-needed good night’s sleep (I clearly didn’t sleep very well since the incident two nights before).
The next day, our paths didn’t cross as he had to leave home early for work (J was working a vacation gig job).
It wasn’t til evening that he returned home, whereupon (to his credit) he almost immediately came to me and asked if he could speak to me as soon as he’s taken a quick shower and changed into his home clothes.
I agreed.
“I Was Wrong And I’m Sorry“
After he had bathed and changed, my son came over to where I was seated in the study.
He sat down, letter in hand, and (unlike during the incident when he avoided eye contact) looked me straight in the face and…apologised.
He said that he had read my letter, and thought carefully through all the points. J acknowledged and agreed that nearly all the points I raised were valid. Except my letter’s first point where I claimed that my son thinks he’s above obeying parents. (He was adamant in correcting me on that point; he never once thought that way)
Continuing on in a serious and contrite voice, J told me that he recognised the hurt he caused and assured me that he didn’t mean for it to happen.
Finally, my dear son told me that he understood where I was coming from, and henceforth he won’t bring his phone into the toilet anymore.
“I Never Doubted You, Son!”
What my son didn’t know was that even before he came to me, I had already forgiven him. As it turned out, that letter I wrote was really more of a self-therapy session for me than an unhappy letter to him.
I knew enough about my son to know that once he had time to process, J would do the right thing. And something like a handwritten letter goes a long way with that processing. For me as much as for him.
So it was, all in all, a happy ending. J apologised, and I affirmed him and our relationship in return. I also let him know that I wasn’t proud I “took him to town” that night when I unleashed my fury. So I too owed him an apology.
Still, what really counted was that we both grew from this experience and ensured that our relationship is now the stronger for it.
As a parent, nothing could have meant more.
If you enjoyed reading my thoughts and wish to support what I do, please consider donating using the button below.
Thank you so much!
