I watched from a distance as you stood a few yards away from your young son. Holding a football in your hands, you called out to him, “I’ll try.” In that moment, I felt an instant connection to you, so I kept watching and listening. You pulled your arm back, aimed (or maybe you didn’t), and let that football fly towards your son. Only, the ball flew toward your three o’clock, not your twelve o’clock where your son stood, waiting expectantly with arms outstretched….
And then your body language pantomimed the story you must have been telling yourself. “What an epic fail, how embarrassing. I hope no one saw that, but my son saw it, and now I am diminished in his eyes, on top of already losing part of my little boy to his dad lately, to their shared big boy-ness that I can’t compete with, this will make him pull further away from me, this is why I don’t throw balls, ugh!” At least that’s what I told myself when the same thing happened to me…
I want that mama to feel less alone, less disappointed, and more hopeful about that moment she shared with her son, so I wrote her this letter. To read the rest, click over to Her View At Home.
Utter Imperfection 