Friday I’m In Love: My Son, Luke

This is probably too personal. Oh well.

Usually, I write these on Friday mornings. But tomorrow, I’m having tacos with Jacob Hinmon so there’s a pretty good chance that I’ll need to put in some extra time on my DIY Peloton to make up for the feast. So, here I am, on a Thursday night—locked in my office with a Spotify Daily Mix on the headphones at a volume just loud enough for me to pretend like my kids aren’t neck-deep in unhealthy screen time while eating piles of Skittles. At some point, they’ll need to go to bed. I hope they make it.

A few years ago, Amy (Mrs. Upto12) figured out that we only had a limited number of summers (18ish?) with each of our kids. I say figured out because that concept had never crossed my mind. Of course, kids grow up. But attaching a finite number of summers to that process was something novel and terrifying. Our oldest son is now 16; there are three summers left. And, tonight, I’m going to try to work through all of that.

Okay.

I’m trying.

Maybe I’ll write a letter to my son? No. Don’t do that. Played out.

A letter to the person he ends up sharing a life with? Nope. Gag.

I’ll just tell him I love him. I know I do that all the time, but it’ll mean more here on the internet.

Huh?

This idea is stupid. I should just write about Matt’s BBQ.

Three more summers.

Why do I love this kid? Could it be so simple? Not to write about loving him, but to write about why?

It’s worth a shot.

Luke, this is why I love you.

I love you because you’re the first.

I love you because you question yourself. This is going to be a hard one over the years. It’s a hard one now. It’ll make things confusing and sometimes it’ll make you wonder who you are at all. But good men question themselves—they question their privilege and their circumstance. Don’t be afraid of the instability those questions might bring. It’ll make you a better human.

I love you because you ran the last 1500m race of your freshman track season so hard that you had to go behind the bleachers and throw up. Leave it all out there. You’re not getting those minutes back; make them worth it.

I love you because you’ll eat anything. And you’ll eat it with me.

I love you because you’re figuring out what it means to become your own person. It’s a mess, isn’t it? Keep trying. Wear those weird shoes. Roll your pants as high as you’d like. Shop at the Goodwill.

I love you because your eyes contain all the rainwater collected in Oregon. Or something like that. It’s a color of blue I’ve never seen anywhere else.

I love you because you like to keep your haircuts tight. And that means I get to run my hands through your hair and remember giving you buzzcuts when you were the tiniest, scrawniest kid.

I love you because you get excited. Don’t ever stop getting excited. This world will try to beat the pure excitement out of you. Being jaded is easy. Being excited and giddy and plain stupid with enthusiasm is hard. Do it anyway.

I love you because you still spent a few hours each Sunday playing with your millions of Legos. That time does more for your brain than you understand.

I love you because all your cousins adore you and follow you around like an ancient warrior prophet, hanging on your every word and acting on your every order.

I love you because you’re so annoying. But I’ll totally be okay if you want to stop being so annoying.

I love you because every afternoon you ask me what I did today—and I’m pretty sure you actually want to know.

I love you because when I say “I didn’t do anything today,” you say “Nice.”

I love you because you try.

I love you because you care about being a decent person.

I love you because you’re strong.

I love you because you shoot your shot.

I love you because you let me pretend I’m still 1/2" taller than you are.

I love you because you love Paul Walker.

I love you because we’re going to watch all the Fast & Furious movies—again and again and again and again and again.

I love you because you feel the weight of things. We’re the same that way.

I love you because you say “I love you” when I drop you off at school every morning.

I love you because you help me justify my absurd sneaker purchases.

I love you because you look at people when you talk to them.

I love you because you deleted Instagram. Can you show me how?

I love you because you’re like me but also nothing like me. Someday, you’ll understand how wild of an idea that is, how it makes no sense but also makes perfect sense. It might be the weirdest/coolest thing about being a parent.

I love you because you appreciate Shea Serrano and Arturo Torres.

I love you because we both agree that quoting Chance the Rapper is a great way to jumpstart a Sunday School discussion.

I love you because you I like you.

I love you because I can’t imagine doing anything else.

I love you because it’s Friday or any other day of the week that ends in ‘y’.

I love you because Dad Jokes.

Luke. I love you.

I know better than to think that putting this all on the internet makes it something special. But it’s here. So you can read it whenever you need it. And whenever I need it. Maybe someone else needs it.

Every Friday I share something I love. Usually, it’s a new infatuation. Occasionally, it’s something else. We’ll see how it goes. Thanks for the theme song, Phoebe Bridgers!