Open letter — Dear son, here’s the future.

Dear son,

I’m sitting here typing this out in the hospital room as your mother sleeps, resting her eyes before you bravely enter the world. In the quiet of the room, as music drifts gently to my ears, as the whispers of pages turn from our friend reading a book beside me, I just had to take a moment to write down some thoughts. I apologize in advance if they are a bit scattered.

I am expecting great things. To be clear, this is not a statement of pressure and overbearing parental expectations. It’s not so much that greatness is the classic cliche of capture and attaining trumps the world over. It’s simply that I find myself in the unique position of being exceedingly optimistic about your life, and your future, and as such, I know that the hills and mountains you will climb will be so much more than I’ll ever know.

Over the past three-plus years, I’ve watched your brother experience the world that your mother and I call home. These moments of pure experience have been nothing short of the most delightful and joyful moments of my life. Like the delight of ice cream, bubble baths, corgi cuddles, and so many more that I dare not even attempt to name them all. I’ve seen them, and now I get to see you likewise grow and experience some of the same exact things for the very first time. It’s because of this pure curiosity that I say with absolute confidence — in you I expect great things.

When last I wrote a letter like this, it was to your older brother Apollo. In it, I said, “I know absolutely nothing about parenting…” and those words were unequivocally true. I knew nothing. But now I do. Not a lot, but I have learned at least one or two things. Let me hit the key points:

I will disappoint you. For Apollo, I know this to be true, and for you too. I will be hard when I need to be soft. Soft when I need to be hard. My humanity will let you down. But as I said to Apollo, we (your parents) are figments of the truth that exists, and therein I have faith you will prevail in this world. However, in my years as a father, I have found that I still have the capacity for growth and learning; as such, I pray that while I disappoint you, I will grow and learn from it to help you find the center in the future.

You are the interruption in my life that I need and want. I cannot tell you how often your brother has distracted me from “life”, yet every time, I am truly better for it. Yes, I’ve missed deadlines, run late for appointments, and have been less prepared for that one last big presentation, and yet in the grand scheme of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, that is okay. It is okay because Apollo, your mother, you… you are all family, and I’ve gathered a greater appreciation for what that means over the last few years. It means we grow together in the bad times and celebrate in the good…

Oh snap — gotta go — you are being born!
I’ll be right back to finish this once you’ve arrived!

Truth be told, I didn’t come back immediately. My son, I didn’t have the strength to write this until you were almost six months old. As you age, you will learn to prioritize things; what you care about is what you do and prioritize. To know a person is to understand what they will prioritize. Well, life got in the way; I am now making time to sit here and write this letter to you. I pray that you learn to prioritize better than me.

That noted, this letter is now tainted. It’s flavored in a very different way from my last open letter. There’s a scent, a texture, and a simple quality that cannot be ignored. This letter will be different than what I wrote for your brother. Originally I had planned to mimic the structure, giving some vague advice that I had hoped you could find of value in the future. Don’t get me wrong, I still will. But it’s no longer a pure vanilla base waiting for texture and shape to arrive and be proven wrong. This letter is now the full Moose Tracks Ice Cream — it’s got the crisp crunch of a peanut butter cup with a playfully gooey fudge swirl. You now flavor this letter, for you have arrived.

You came quickly into this world. You rocked us to our very core with your sheer determination to be here now. You brought life. You brought tears. You brought joy. You brought questions.

My son, you have already grown. Grown so very much. You have experienced. You have tasted the sweet nectar of life, and you love it. Your smile melts my heart and brings my salty lips to an upward curve. It’s the same curve that shapes my face to the world every morning when I wake to hear you chattering about your morning mood — letting your mother and I know about how your night was and what dreams filled that little sugar plum mind of yours. It’s the curve of delight. You have delighted us. You have changed us. I do not yet really know how, but you have in your own little way. Your hands have already left a mark on this world.

This knowledge of what you have already achieved leads me to write this: you have the agency to make the world a better place for everyone. You have the ability and authority as a human on earth to shape the narrative for your life and those around you. I pray that you recognize your power and your character and leverage a healthy and generous amount of entitlement to shape a life that is not made of simple experiences but of richly complex memories that matter. Memories that you can share and pass along to others as a fact of life that found the edge and pushed to bring about good.

You, like your brother, have an incredible position to effect positive change. I hope you seize that right and do so and that you will take intentional risks and learn from failures fast and yet, at the same time, slowly. Lessons learned from failures can prop you up quickly when you fall, but learning to walk again takes time… thus, from your failure, I pray that you will sit and ponder, seek council and grizzled grayed wisdom— not to get lost in sorrow at mistakes and not become a victim, but to seek to extract every ounce of meaning you can from those moments so that you can help others. A hug can say a thousand unspoken words. A failure can whisper a thousand truths.

I pray that you live a life with intent. In my brief time on earth, I’ve learned that there are trailblazers, trail followers, and those who sit — comfortably in their own existence. Do not settle, but do not chase the empty dreams of those who blaze trails to nowhere, only to end up unsatisfied at the end of the path. Learn when to follow. Learn when to lead, and be comfortable jumping between the two. But take steps. One foot, in front of the other… one by one… move forward. Just keep swimming.

Someone once quoted to me, “do not mistake movement for progress,” to which I thought, but how can you have progress without movement? How can you possibly hope even to understand where to go, and the potential complexities of the space if not for taking a step in that direction to uncover the unknown unknowns? It’s the age-old chicken and age question.

Between the intellectual and the people of action — I advocate for action… and intellect; both I believe are required. I know you enough to know that you will have the capacity for deep thought, to know that you will be quiet when you need to think and talk with a resounding clatter when you need. Speak son. Speak with clarity, speak with confidence. Do not allow your intellect to become a party trick. Take the uniqueness of your identity and being, and with intent and focus, push the human race forward. Do not settle for the status quo. If you believe that you have the capacity to change the world and you take the right steps, you have created the potential for change.

I pray that you understand your identity. Grasp the firm realities of who you are, and do not waver. Your identity is a gift. I believe this to the depth of my soul. You are crafted. And yet, while the materials may all be there and present, it is up to you to define the shape. There are certain things that I’ve learned about identity over the past few years, but the most important of which is that your identity cannot be centered on yourself. If you are your north star, you will find it hard to keep it from growing fuzzy as the weathering of time sands down the clarity of your lens. You will not have the support of others to help keep you on track.

I’m not advocating for giving up our identity to others — by no means. But I pray that you understand the value in a distributed identity of external sources that elevate and stabilize you in times of trial when you cannot rely on yourself. You are human. Forgive your mother and me for your humanity, but with it comes all the flaws and imperfections accordingly. And as such, your identity needs external support; as much as your soul needs to be fed by the context of your reality, so does your identity. I pray you learn to seek help and surround yourself with people who strive to learn and grow their souls and identities.

My son, I’ve seen you look at your brother Apollo. I’ve seen you look up to him with incredible awe as he struts by you as you struggle to lift your head. I pray that you do not live in his shadow. I pray that while you grow as a family and learn to support and lift each other in the darkness, that you will also strike out and become your person. You could take the very best of each other's individuality, identity, and souls and use that you carry you down your unique paths. Your brother can either be a lifelong crutch or a lifelong friend.

I pray that you learn to love the difference between right and wrong and see it with stunning clarity. More specifically, I pray that you will learn the incredible power of forgiveness and how it shapes the burden of responsibility. The responsibility of forgiveness can either become a crushing weight when neglected or become a life-giving release when employed. Forgiveness shapes the world's progress forward more than clinging to the hurts of the past in a desperate attempt to idolize what was. I pray you learn to and proactively forgive.

I pray for so many things for you. It would be exhausting to try and spell them all out. I will close this little letter with one last prayer that you will become a life evangelist. Your life would reflect light into the world so bright and piercing that it would shatter the darkness surrounding you.

The world that your mother and I brought you into is racing forward with a relentless vengeance. I’m fearfully I’ll hardly know how to navigate it by the time you’ve started your own family. The truth is that the world, while beautiful and full of the potential of love, is likewise dark and hideous, filled with people chasing dreams that smash those of others in a fit of selfish anger. Find time to slow down. Find time for peace. Find time for silence. Find time for prayer. Live a life worth living. That shapes not only your existence but those around you.

Your life will ultimately be defined not only by what you do and accomplish but how your share it with others and by how you rest. Know when your work is finished, and find time to rest. It’s often in those quiet moments of rest that new dreams have the ability to manifest into a tangible reality.

When Apollo was born, I wrote to him that he was the expectation of a life well lived. When I am dead and gone, he will have my stories, and share his life with others. He was my legacy. And yet, now that you are here already and have lived in this world, I’ve realized that not only will Apollo take on the Nelson name, but so will you. This gives me hope for the future. Not that I’m desperately clinging to the relevance of my title, but I am thrilled to see how you break from the chains of the sins that hold your father hostage. You have agency.

Son, along with your brother, you will define me. My identity is owned not solely by me but also by your hands, mind, soul, and the path you choose the walk down. How the world sees me is now in your hands, and how you tell my stories and share my memories. While I’ve been saved from myself by Jesus, my earthly memory will live on in you. That fills me with hope, and, if I’m honest, a little trepidation. But thankfully, you do not only have me to draw me memories from, but your mother as well… and she completes me — she makes me whole, and so I know those memories will be great.

Sebastian, as much as your brother, you are the next great adventure. I am filled with so much hope and joy. You may only be six months old, but I see how you view the world. I do not have a crystal ball to peer into your future, but I know that you will make a difference — because you already have. Just know that your mother and I love you to infinity and beyond. We will seek with every ounce of our being to help point you in the direction of a life well lived so you can achieve immeasurably more than we could ever know.

With Love,
Your Father.