My kids, I fear, might never learn from me
the fine art of a good conversation,
or the capacity to feel confident in any situation,
or a knack for tidiness or well-appointed clothes or home furnishings,
but they will be comfortable with non-perfection.
The perpetual overabundance of one and underabundance of another…
They will be aware but not persecute themselves for an occasional corn dog, though they aspire to something greener. They will be happy for food.
Nor will they curse themselves for a craving for fried chicken or chocolate.
The advent calendar day (or weeks) caught up in a night, or two…
The late arriving magi to the nativity
When they are going along, may they take in the beauty of the skyline, the autumn rapture of color and the lavish, almost obscene beauty of the natural world and seek it out, rather than stay cloistered in disappointment, grief and frustration that is an inevitable part of life.
May they remain silent in the company of gossip and judgement, inquiring instead about the well-being of sons and daughters.
May they know intimately the value of work, creativity, relationships, gratitude and a particularly delicious spaghetti sauce.
They will endeavor to be tidy, creative, fit, lovely and easy company… all the while perhaps wearing pajamas.
They may be ready for a dance party at any time with their moves like the loose booty and the dive and the Pacific Watusi.
And if I have taught them nothing more than being comfortable in their human skin and how to make a really good cookie, I might be able to live with that.