My dearest Jacob James,
It just does not seem even remotely possible that in March you turned ten. TEN. It has taken me much too long to write your annual birthday letter. In fact, today was the last day of fourth grade. My most favorite grade. The grade that is likely the beginning of your most formative years and experiences. In my annual tradition, it’s time for a mini memoir on Jake. And of course this year I’m sticking with my new format, successfully completing the pilot a few weeks *cough* months ago.
Just like your brother, never in the decade of your life have I looked at you and thought, “Oh, he’s just like me… or his dad.” I’ve more frequently thought, “Where did this little force of nature come from?” You’ve always been supremely yourself. Not a miniature version of either one of us.
That said, there are little bits about you that seem to come from all kinds of characters, both real, fictional, close and remote…
Like your dad, you love movies and stories and get sucked right into the depths of a good book. You’re naturally artistic and crazy creative. Today you were asking about creating the future brand of the future company you plan to start. You have big dreams and the special gift of being able to visualize exactly what you want to make.
And like Dad, you think no one cooks better. You sincerely have never liked anyone’s food more than Daddy’s spaghetti and Daddy’s tacos and Daddy’s sliders, fondue, and brekkie sammies. You’re hyper sensitive to being late. You couldn’t have possibly inherited this from the Purnells… just ask Daddy.
You seem to have inherited your great grandfather Pop’s intuition for how things work. You love building things and figuring out mechanical and electronic challenges. You’ve decided you want to study Computer Science in college. You tell me about how you’re going to work for a company so you can learn from them and then leave to start your own endeavor. You’re torn between your desire for success and entrepreneurship, and your desire to make a difference saving wildlife from habitat destruction and humans.
Like your great aunt Rox, you are deeply compelled to help animals in need. We tried to watch the new Netflix documentary called Our Planet. We had to quickly turn it off after the scene where the baby flamingo tripped and stumbled alone in the salt flats of the desert, its little feet caked with salt. Your heart was breaking. It was too much. You covered your eyes and cried. You were haunted by the image burned into your mind’s eye, pleading that we somehow erase it from your head.
You give a lot of thought to the problem of plastics in the oceans and the harm humans are causing to the earth. You read food labels and have sworn-off all foods containing palm oil. No matter how much you like it. Nutella? Dead to us. You learned somewhere that rainforests are being destroyed and replaced with palm oil plantations. Baby orangutans are dying. It bothers me deeply to know my generation hasn’t done more to protect the environment for you and your future children. We talk about what we can do to make a difference and how your tears make you different. More powerful. And how to take that sadness and turn it into meaningful action.
When it comes to action, you’re always in motion. Like me, you’re very busy. You make lists. You have plans. You’re undoubtedly destined for a lifetime of projects.
It’s usually 9PM when inspiration strikes and I’m the bad guy for saying it’s not a good time to be starting this project. Like Nonna, you’re a night owl. Like Papa, you’re good at math and love your buttered carbs. You have Uncle Geoff’s feet.
And yet there are so many traits that are uniquely you. Your hazel eyes, your iron will, and your absolute resolve. You actively practice the trendiest new dance moves. You can sing all the words to all the songs on the radio and get every word right.
We love you Jakey. You are powerfully special. And while I see little bits of so many of our favorite people in you, there is only one you.
Love,
Mama