By Kate King
To my son, but mostly myself for now, because he is only 1…
Son,
May you speak to all sides of how you feel. May you do so with one of those fun clicky pens that change colors. May you not hide any of them away in seemingly safe places or high dust bunnie-d shelves in hopes of protecting yourself or the opinion of others. Even if you feel darkness, give it a high five. Your truth will be more protection for this world than lies or quieted thoughts. I can't say this will save your life, I can't say it will make you popular-but it will save your heart.
May you not emphasize those dark shade vegetable emotions, if only because light overcomes them. Lemon-Banana-Starfruit-Power! What? Just go with it. Remember the earth isn't fueled with emotional energy but bells and whistles that just do their job when they need to. May I be a well receiving place for your fears, disappointments, frustrations and discomfort. I hope I never tell you to "just be grateful" or "accept your circumstances without question". I also hope I don't let you wallow.
Mostly, maybe selfishly, I hope we're both here for a very long time. I hope I not only believe in your choices and decisions, but in your indecision, mistakes and regret. Supporting you as I stand by them like memorial candles that don't burn out because you'll need them later on. I may be weeping but I'll be flag-waving-mom proud of the regrets you gather just as I am fiercely proud of my own. Each one like a trophy in my gut. Now. That doesn't mean I'll believe in all your feelings. I hope to mind smack you the way Markus did last winter in Harlem while an over-attentive pug drooled into my lap as I told him I didn't feel like I was really living my life and he said "I'd question that thought sister, this is it!" before getting on the C train downtown with a Ziploc sandwich in his hand.
I hope to take your side even if the world doesn't for no other reason but that I am your mom. The same mom that delights in dressing you in orange heart leggings for absolutely no reason.
Ivan, the more sides you speak to, the greater prism you build. Reflecting all of you. You were born whole. Not an arm one day and a leg days later. Thank God. That would have been awful.
About the Author
Katie King does her best writing at golden hour in front of the window wearing nothing but a bra and earrings as the Canada geese fly past. She has been published in the Telepoem Booth, Nude Bruce Review, Tiny Spoon Literary Magazine, Narrow Chimney Reading Series Anthology, Juniper House Anthology, Wizards in Space Literary Magazine, Menteur Magazine, Dying Dahlia Press, Thin Air Magazine, Rinky Dink Press and at 8 years old, Pockets Magazine.
