To My Sons:

Today you both graduate. Dad and I have split ways to attend separate graduations in different states. Years ago when you both learned that I never graduated from college, I will never forget the incredulous looks “Wait, what? You didn’t graduate from college?” I chipped away at it, even after marriage, but once I became pregnant, I went from studying books to studying baby boys become grown men.

Dear Christopher: Today you will accept your doctorate in physical therapy. I am not surprised. Amazed and awed and proud beyond belief, but not surprised.

Things have not always come easily to you, but I have watched you pick up the broken pieces of dreams left behind and stack them carefully to build something new.

You were a happy boy who was an only child for five years. When your brother came along you fiercely protected him at first, until the newness wore off. In the three years it took Eric to say any word clearly, you were the only one who could decipher his language. He called you “Ja Ha.” I can still hear him in his little three-year-old voice. “Ja Ha” slowly became “Christopher” as the two of you began a year’s long crusade of relentless arguing.

I was a mom with little patience and as much as you two bickered, I begged you to stop. Of the many things I wish I could undo and do over as a parent, interfering in your mostly harmless disputes would be the first. I am certain that somewhere along the way something happened that put a wedge between the two of you. If only I would have been a better parent or a more involved parent or loved you both a little better, things would be different. But I wasn’t, and I’m not and things are as they are.

Despite your age difference, or maybe because of it, Eric always looked up to you and followed closely behind in everything you did. Of yours and Eric’s many pursuits, Tae Kwon Do and high school powerlifiting were the two that gave us the most wonderful memories. Dad had been a black belt in Tae Kwon Do for many years and was determined that both of you would also earn your black belts.

You excelled at Tae Kwon Do and moved quickly from one belt to another. You started at the age of 7 and by the time you were 15, you were devoting many hours a week to practicing and studying to earn your third-degree black belt. How I begged dad to let you quit since testing came during your first year of high school and while playing freshman football.

You and dad were sparring partners as you practiced together for this hours’ long test. Red-faced and exhausted, we returned home many hours later and dumped your duffel bags filled with gear into basement storage.

Your Dad and I so enjoyed watching you play football in middle school. You seemed determined to be a brick wall standing in place that became unbreakable to all opponents. By high school the competition became a bit more dog eat dog as several middle schools poured players into one large high school.

I grew so tired of throwing your clean uniforms in the wash only to return a week later just as clean. I pleaded endlessly in my head for your coach to just give you a chance, just let you play.

Oh, the joy when you decided to join the powerlifting team! The many hours we spent at tournaments to watch you lift for 30 seconds was worth it times 100! It was always so exciting to see you challenged and then succeed.

Your subtle sense of humor, your dogged determination and fierce loyalty to anything you set your mind to, have served you well.

Dear Eric: Today you will accept you bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering. That you accomplished this in only four years, not skidding into home base with dirt flying in all directions, but with grace and aptitude, is in part because of your amazing ability to adapt to what is.

When I moved you from our neighborhood school to attend the new charter school across town in third grade, you were so mad at me. When I picked you up after your first day, you walked quickly past me while uttering angrily in my ear, “I hate it here, I want to go back to my old school.” Until the second day came and you settled in so well it eventually became a second home of friends and family.

The kindness of your gentle heart was evident early in your life. I would board the school bus with you and buckle you into your seat before you headed to your early childhood classes. Before you would sit down you insisted on stopping and talking to each of the disabled kids on the bus. You always found something wonderful to say. “I love the pink ribbons in your hair.” Or “That’s a nice backpack.” You were a wonder at such an early age.

Everyone has heard the story of you going on your first service trip with your church group. Dad and I stood to the side with you at arm’s length. We didn’t recognize anyone and said as much. “Eric, do you know anyone?” I don’t know anyone yet” was your wonderful reply.

If you have a candy bar or a cookie, you will split it in half and give me the bigger piece; if there is trash on the road, you stop to pick it up; you won’t pass a donation canister without dropping in fistfuls of change. Your heart for the Lord is huge and you have been displaying his love as an example to our family since you could talk.

You are adaptable, and patient and you never choose the easy route. And the same joy that we received watching Christopher on the powerlifiting team, we experienced with you. I am certain you watched your brother and wanted to do as well as him. You both excelled through your hard work and determination.

You both matter and you have been worth the sacrifice. You are the skin in the game that gives me life. And the love I have for you, as well as the joy I receive watching you become men, is boundless.

My greatest hope is that you find your way back to each other and become the friends that only brothers, who are the only ones who have us as parents, can be.