Letters to My Son: Letter 1

My son,

You know I love to go on a good lecturing rant.

Especially when you're stuck with me in the car or at the Shabbos table. There's nothing quite like it.

I have to say, you have been so respectful about it. I know sometimes (most times) it's too much, and I just go on and on and on.

I do believe the things I tell you.

I am learning, perhaps too late, that it doesn't matter if I am right or have good ideas.

No one wants to hear a lecture.

Unless they signed up for it. Unless they chose to go.

That is the only scenario where a lecture is appropriate. And even then the lecturer better know their audience.

I think that also, as my son, you watch me and analyze what I do.

And you see a disparity. A crack, or many cracks, in the porcelain facade I put up.

And the lecture, the authority that demands respect, falls flat in the face of the things I tell you.

Truth is, as you get older, I imagine you see this with many adults.

Your rebbe with his perfect scraggly beard. He says something or does something that flies in the face of what they told you is important.

As a kid, I saw all adults as these perfect beings. As I got older and better at seeing the world, I began to see their humanity. It would burst forth at times, like a volcano erupting.

Cracks, even small cracks, appeared and ruined the perfect vision I had held for them.

When I first noticed this, it was unsettling.

So why would I think you wouldn't notice this about me too?

And so, I lecture, assuming I am setting the perfect chessboard, all the pieces ready and waiting to be played.

I pull myself together as if I am bringing you the word of God himself, like Moses with the tablets.

But unlike Moshe Rabbeinu, my flaws are quite easy to spot. And as you grew up, you began to see them.

I don't even mean to be talking bad about myself; it is just that I am human. Your mother is human. Your rebbeim, human.

All the adults in your life are human and make mistakes.

Your rebbeim and teachers, the good ones, the supposedly good ones, and the bad ones. Even the clueless ones. All human.

As a teenager, this comes hurtling into stark reality.

I can't even imagine what that feels like for you.

I remember what it was like for me, kind of. I don't remember the feeling of it.

And as a human, I made myself believe that you wouldn't see it.

Truth is, I thought this would be an apology of sorts, yet it is something else also.

I am coming to terms with the idea that it's actually ok. It's normal for you to be shaken by the contrast, and normal for me to want to guide you, however imperfectly.

And I hope that as you grow, you realize that while I have many faults, you are also young and learning to find the truth for yourself. Maybe you will learn to see that in your judgment of me, your mother, your rebbeim, or even Hashem, you are human too. With flaws of your own.

So why am I writing this?

Why am I publishing this personal and obvious lecture on a platform online? Aside from my somewhat narcissistic tendency to share these thoughts with the world?

The truth is I still want to lecture you. I want to shout from the rooftops, yell into the ether. I want the world, and mainly you, my captive audience, to hear me, to see me.

I am tragically human.

I’m learning, though.

And I realize that lecturing you about my thoughts on life or the real meaning of what it is to be a man doesn't really work.

When we are together, talking or hanging out, I’m learning that all you ever really wanted was time together, not to attend another mussar shmooze.

But I still like lecturing.

I can't help it.

So, a compromise.

Anytime I have a good lecture brewing, and I feel the need to dump it on you like a bucket of ice water, I’m just going to write it out here.

As a letter to you. To your brothers as well. Maybe even your sister.

I’m better at preaching to men, so it’s going to be mainly directed to you and your brothers.

(Maybe others online will read it too and think that I'm so honest in my writing and that I'm so deep and introspective and raw, writing to my kids about my thoughts and feelings, and they'll subscribe and maybe even upgrade to paid. Please Hashem.)

Read it if you choose to, or don't. Either is fine.

I’ll have gotten it out of my system.

And so when we are together spending time, we can just be together.

Love,

Your father, who loves you more than he understands.

P.S. When we do hang out next, I start lecturing you anyway. Please feel free to tell me, “Tatty, just put it on your blog!”

I won't get offended, I promise. I’m mostly just excited to hang out!

Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed please consider sharing.