My dearest JJ,
I started writing this letter on Coronavirus Day 74, which was 11 weeks after your birthday, only to succumb to the pit of time quicksand that is quarantine. It’s Day 185 and here I am, finishing my favorite letter of the year– your birthday letter. Or shall I say, your half birthday letter? You’re exactly eleven and a half. So here goes, doing my best to capture just a little glimpse into who you are and what you’re all about.
You really came into your own in fifth grade. It was all the things you were excited about– volcano making, experiments with two-liter soda bottles and Mentos, a cool male teacher named Mr. Marthaler, and Dungeons and Dragons club with school buddies. Those in the know called it “D&D.”
So… 2020. We had your birthday slumber party on Saturday, March seventh. A week later, we celebrated your birthday on the fourteenth, the day after we were all sent home. And then the lockdown descended upon the earth. So this year isn’t so much what you’re like as an eleven-year-old, but more like what you’re like as an eleven-year-old under pandemic house arrest.
And so, without further ado, an ode to Ocean’s Eleven, I mean Jacob’s Eleven… and-a-half:
You are an endless stream of questions. I’ll be getting ready for work and you’ll ask me things like, “Mom, how do contracts work?” Or, “Why didn’t you get a Phd?” The other day, it was something about taxes. You listen intently during the end of the workday chit chat, absorbing all the employee performance management highs and lows.
You love Manga books, comics, drawing, and coding. You still like soccer, though I’m not so sure flag football or baseball will survive the COVID hiatus. You eat multiple mini bags of trail mix, but leave the almonds. And the bags on the coffee table.
You hope you can go back to school for some part of sixth grade. You don’t love remote learning. You miss your friends and learning in person and I can’t bear to tell you the Catalina trip is canceled. I have a hard time imagining you going to Jr. High, when really it seems time stopped just as fifth grade was hitting its stride.
You see every opportunity for advantage. You write me long persuasive letters for why I should do things and stuff them with money to buy things I won’t let you have. No answer can be accepted without interrogation or negotiation.
You hear just about everything. Even with your Beats headphones on, you’re listening to every word. Unless I’m asking you to do something. Then you feign you can’t hear or respond with, “I’m OK.” Which is not my favorite answer.
You feel overly sensitive to television kissing or romantic relationships of any kind. You pull the blanket up over your head. You must avert your gaze or you’ll be turned to stone.
You dream about what our new house should look like. You tell me all about your ideas for your room, including the space for all your Legos. I am also endlessly excited to talk about alternatives to your Legos being displayed in my living room.
You want to study computer engineering. And to build your own PC. You generally have every step planned on your way to CEO.
You need a lot of freedom and free time and decision-making authority. You want to decide what we do every weekend. You must be consulted. You’re happiest when you’re the boss.
You give me a warm and fuzzy feeling when you take my hand on the street. Or your dad’s. You lace fingers and walk closely to me, even though you’re usually kind of grumpy that you have to walk. Somewhere.
You would like to spend all summer at College for Kids.
I love my Jacob because he is clever, creative, wise, and good-humored. I love my JJ because he is exactly who he is. Who he is meant to be.
I love you Gyoza,
Mama
