When Sebastian is a teenager, and he “jacks in” to his iHolo to check out the PepsiColaInternet, I hope he doesn’t read the stuff his dear old mom wrote about him and then draw the conclusion that I was ever unhappy with him in any way.
Because I’m not. He’s a wonderful little boy, a perfect jewel. A jewel that is both clear and cloudy, full of fissures and feathers yet imbued with a supernatural elan, desired by rich ladies and pirates and international jewel thieves alike.
The world is bigger and louder and brighter and clangier for our young friend than it is for the average kid, yet he pushes through overwhelming scariness over and over again just to make it through the day.
Do I wish things were easier for for him, and by extension, us? Well, yes, but only because I want to ease his path through life like a sweeper in a curling match, running ahead and quickly brushing any impediments to smooth travels out of the way. Luckily for both of us, that’s not possible. And in the long run, we’ll all be tougher for hitting all those bumps and divots.
So, teenage Sebastian, put down your food replacement pill and your e-cigarette, and pay attention: You have always been wonderful, and I love you so. Nothing you have ever done has made me unhappy. And I promise: When you set fire to the living-room rug when you are 8, I will go easy on you.