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Fatherhood

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Holiday Thanks

By Greg Blake MillerPublished: November, 2003

An open Thanksgiving letter to my 3-year-old son: Thanks for the morning. Thanks for the door swinging open.

Thanks for footfalls I hardly hear.

The top of a blond head bobs by at the foot of my bed. Thanks for that, too.

Thanks for the first sight of small hands rubbing tired eyes.

Thanks for the tugging at my sheets and the insistent request,

"Get up! Get up!"

I roll over and pretend there is no morning, no swinging door, no footfalls, no blond head, no small hands, no tired eyes, no tugging at the sheets, no insistent request. But you do not give in.

"Get up. Get up."

You are indomitable. It drives me crazy, but the madness is mixed with pride. I contend with your strength every day, but I'm thankful for it. Now do as I say: Go back to bed. "Get up. Get up."

You win again.

Thank you for hugging the cat. Please don't throw her.

Thank you for feeding the rabbit. Get your hand out of the litter.

Thank you for helping with the dishes. Now take them out of the trash.

Thanks for sitting at the table. Please eat.

Thanks for sitting on the potty. Don't stand on the potty.

Thanks for getting in the car, thanks for buckling in, thanks for going to school.

Thanks for coming home. Thanks for climbing on my lap. Thanks for hugging me. Thanks for pulling on my nose. Thanks for messing up my hair. Thanks - DON'T. TOUCH. THE KEYBOARD.

Thanks for running in the back yard. Thanks for shooting mini-hoops. Thanks for singing the "Blues Clues" song.

That's enough, now.

Thanks for recognizing me in the wedding video.

Thanks for counting to 20.

Thanks for singing the alphabet.

Thanks for being so finicky, for having no interest in chicken nuggets and fries. May your cholesterol never match mine.

Thanks for liking raisins. I see you like the Sun Maid girl on the box. I think she likes you, too.

By the way, do you like anything besides raisins? Just wondering.

Thanks for finding enough nutrition in soymilk and thin air.

Thanks for showing me your after-dinner dance-steps and headstands and somersaults.

I say, "Bedtime!" You pull me outside. You climb on my shoulders.

You look at the stars.

You're rubbing your eyes again. Thanks.

You're listening to me read. You are becoming sleepy, verrrrrrrrry sleeeeeepy.

Your eyes are closed.

Thanks for the night.

It's here!