What I want my kids to remember
Elijah, Samuel, Kavita, and Asher,
I know we talk about this stuff all the time and you might not think a letter is necessary today, but nostalgia is my middle name and legacy my forethought. Just as my grandparents walked to school uphill in the snow, or so the legend goes, you will tell your kids of the distance learning at home for over a year because of a global virus that took over 2 million lives and a city that couldn’t bring you back together a year later.
And you’ll have stories.
Hard stories.
It’s become a way of living in our family that you show your faces on every Zoom call despite you being the only student who does. This has kept your teacher from growing discouraged and has chiseled you into a leader who has taken one for the team all year long. I highly suggest on your resume you put “Zoom face winner 2020-2021.” Companies will want you because of this character growth that formed in you this year.
You read the morning news in the San Francisco Chronicle and the reality that already exists outside the house finds its way into your hearts and minds. What you’ve taken in this year has been brutally discouraging. You’ve chewed your cereal as you crunched the numbers of restaurants closing, people moving, death tolls rising, children hurting, black men dying, school board arguing, school names changing.
You’ve watched me and your dad every day all day, have highs and lows, as we pass each other around the house. Just like you, this pandemic didn’t come with a playbook and our faith in God and our personal emotions have had its ups and downs. You’ve seen us cling to each other right after we clung to the Bible and prayer in the early mornings, no matter how we felt. We’ve had the blues and blahs and it’s been your grace upon grace that has sparked hope in this home. You’ve brought laughter and an ease when everything around us can be fearful, uncertain, and hard to figure out how to lead and love well.
I see you in routines throughout the day and all seems right. Then I see you take the basketball to dribble outside by yourself during a 10 minute break and I fall apart for you. I watch you curl up by Hershey on the couch as you both gaze outside to an empty city. Your backpacks collect dust and the new lunch boxes still have their tags on them. We have 6 designated spots for water bottles in the kitchen because that’s life these days and staggering lunch times that look more like a bland working environment break room. School ends on zoom and you’re tired of being at home, but that’s the only place you can be.
I know homeschooling families do this because of the life-giving part, but we actually chose as a family to do public school as best as possible in this city. We feel called to the people of our city in a specific way through the school system and this year at times has felt defeated in our mission. Kids, you’ve put more hours into prayer and looked directly into the faces of your teachers and some students more than ever. I’m choosing to believe for each one of you that God has used you in more ways than you can imagine this school year. We might not ever see these ways, but we can believe in faith that He uses our good deeds for His glory and hears every single prayer.
Then you’ll tell these life-giving stories.
This city ages us. It’s a little more obvious on me with my wrinkles and gray hair, but yours are not so obvious. You grow up fast, learning language, seeing depravity, navigating public transit, to name a few. But the past 12 months, you’ve gotten some of your childhood back. Legos and Hot Wheels have reemerged. Chess is a constant between classes. Sam and Asher, you slept in a tent in the back patio for weeks with the occasional firepit and s'mores. Elijah, you designed custom shoes, grilled and smoked meats, learning the science behind these hobbies. Kavita, you have run every single day with dad around the neighborhood. With all that’s been lost, you’ve gained time.
As our friend, LL says, we’ve become disciplined in celebration! We randomly deemed a morning “Mission Blue morning” and would load up in the van and go to our favorite coffee shop. We planned our evening meals together and each of us found our place in the kitchen, capping the end of another day in quarantine. Once the table cleared, Asher determined the board game and winners always led the others in a victory dance around the house. We’d get excited over one event planned for the weekend and you guys rocked the discipline with social media and screen time that the weekend time with movies and such was a celebration in and of itself!
You’ve read, oh you’ve read. C.S. Lewis, Michelle Obama, Martin Luther King, Jr., Andrew Peterson, Andy Stanley, Bryan Stevenson, J.K.K. Tolkien, and this isn’t counting all the books you’ve re-read. You’d walk with me to the library to pick up our books at the door. You’ve lingered in your alone times with God in the mornings and this might be the very hardest adjustment to returning to school. Alexa keeps praise music on repeat except for the occasional Meghan Trainor or Michael Buble who mysteriously appears.
We got to process the presidential election, injustice, insurrection, climate change and C-SPAN coverage as a family. You asked hard questions and we shared our different thoughts and opinions. We continue to watch you hold onto your faith as you wrestle with what you believe.
We spent money on getting a dog rather than new pants for each of you. It’s completely fine to have high-water pants (as my generation calls it) on Zoom. Last thing people would see would be your ankles or knees! One of you is convincing me it’s in style now.
My gift in this season has been the bond formed with the four of you that will affect future generations of Pilgreens.
I cringe to think pain is a gift, but I’m opening up to this irony.
What felt like air traffic control the first few months of shelter-in-place has become a greenhouse of grace. You’ve dug deep, kids. So deep that you’ve discovered treasure. Treasure worth the agony of this year. I see light in you that has grown as you have chosen gratitude over grumbling. I see joy in you that remains because you don’t stay fixated on circumstances. I see hope arising because you know only God can. I see peace in you, that despite what the rest of this country has experienced, gives way to wisdom and understanding.
I’ve always loved being your mom, but a year of school at home, I’ve become the mom to the kindest, most patient kids on the planet.
Love,
Mom
We have all our memories on our phones and that's not always accessible to our family. I share ideas on journaling, printing, and storing to relish in the memories right now.