Ryan

Words to my soon to be high school graduate ~ 

The day you were born, our life ended. B.R. (Before Ryan), your father and I had been but two individuals, uncertainly traversing our new married life together, unsure of our purpose, our goals, even what each new day would or could bring. A.R. (After Ryan), our selfish world became the selfless, limitless, wonderous world of a family forever connected, and suddenly goals and dreams we'd never even imagined we'd wanted shone through so clearly and obviously each time we looked at you. Children are direct blessings from God, as every parent can attest in the worshipful love we feel the second we hold our own. 

You were an amazing baby from the beginning. You taxed and tormented us with your refusal to sleep. You quickly tested, mastered, and moved on to the next stage of development, often leaving us wide-eyed with disbelief as you climbed the kitchen table before you could even walk, and could run before you could talk. You even managed to lock me out of the house before you were two years old, and my only regret was not anticipating that it wouldn't be the first time. It takes a village to raise a child, and you had your very own from your first day of life. Your grandparents, your aunt, our friends and relatives. You had a circle of loved ones ready to satisfy your every infant whim, and not one of us ever complained. I recall crying when I brought you home from the hospital because so many people were there to greet you and see you that I realized I hadn't been able to hold you myself in hours and being away from you that long was so profoundly sad. Spoiled you were, and I say that with nothing but pride and joy, because it meant you were loved and adored.  

When you couldn't yet speak (or stubbornly wouldn't as was more likely the case), you didn't bother speaking OUR common language of English, but you taught the rest of us your own version of Ryan-ese. You would stand like a king, always with a whoo-hoo (AKA pacifier) hanging out of your mouth like a half-smoked cigarette, directing your gibberish at us, your subjects, to figure out your meaning and needs. Sounds meant various words, and it was up to us to decipher the code ourselves. The word "rown" could mean yellow, orange, brown, or red, and though we had to go through each one to get it right, you patiently waited for our less developed language skills to keep up with yours. An "oooh" could mean an airplane, Christmas lights, or even just the moon itself shining on your adorable little face. You were developing your own sign language long before it became the norm. A twist of your wrist meant you wanted a screwdriver. An up and down motion combined with "pow pow" was quite obviously a hammer, and a dana gaga was a big truck (not to be confused with a dana baba, which was a big dinosaur). Grandma and Grandpa, your best friends from the day you were born, became Bama and Bampa, and your favorite beloved Auntie became Teetee. My oldest friend still recalls your nicknaming her "Hooey" (how you got that from Rachel I have no idea) and your love of seafood combined with your inability to pronounce "sh" led to the constant hilarious declaration of "I do love hemp!" 

When it came time to end your pacifier addiction, the sad little nightly cries of "whoo hoo" melted my heart, but once you got past that, you moved right on to speaking, learning and, most of all, teaching the rest of us how to follow your lead. 

You mastered everything you touched. You were an exemplary student. You were an unbelievable athlete. You were the Midas child, and we spent every day amazed but not nearly as surprised as yet another one of your achievements turned gold. 

As you got older, the good years were still good and the accomplishments were still abundant, but as with every child since creation, you began to stretch out and away from us. Though there were times (many, many times) when we could gladly have given you away to the first taker, the brief glimpses we could see of the child, preteen, teen, and almost man kept our faith in you strong and constant. We tried to outwardly encourage each of your endeavors while simultaneously spending many nights worried and panicked that we'd done everything wrong. The worst fear of a parent is getting your child SO close to being an adult, and wondering if you'd done it all wrong. Those years of struggle to find yourself were hard for all of us, and you and I particularly butted our stubborn heads together so often that your dad often had to step in to demand we stop screaming at each other like hillbillies on a reality show, but we got through it and you survived like a true Phoenix, emerging strong, sure, and wonderful, and we went right back to being amazed at how much you'd grown and learned on your own.  

On this new dawn of your life as you end the childhood and begin the manhood, as your parents we wholeheartedly accept and welcome this new person, this adult, this man who has replaced the perfect, precious, life-changing baby we still see in your eyes every single day. We welcome this new you, but it's with the bittersweet realization that our job of active parenting is coming to a close and active parental retirement (but not quite financial parental retirement) is quickly approaching. This is our most difficult struggle, but we are also confident in your ability to continue to amaze and achieve. You'll do just fine on this journey you'll begin, and we are so very privileged to have been there all along. You may be leaving high school and childhood behind and beginning a fantastic life changing turn, but we know you're ready and can do anything.  

We love you, Ryan, more than we could ever express, and we wish you all the wonderful amazement after your graduation that God has planned for you. We have always been and will always be the proudest parents in the world. Happy Graduation, our son.