19 November 2013

I am & He is



Elliott had a Madlibs-ish poem about himself, assigned this week and I cried as I read it. This year has been a reminder of the growth between age three to four. The year he moved from a questioning toddler to little person using his answers. Working to open the door to a bigger life. A wider life. A more independent life. When I read his words, they knocked me flat. Meals matter, travel matters, soccer and his phone matter. And the trunk between the sofa and hearth, it matters. 



Here are his words, who he is:

I Am, Elliott
I am from technology,
From TVs and sports.
I am from house number 2 with the rock yard,
Smells like food.
I am from the rocks,
The oak tree whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I’m from celebrating random holidays and eating a big thanks giving dinner,
From Jonathan and Rebecca,
From traveling and biking,
And eating dinner as a family.
I’m from soccer and snowboarding and skiing,
And yes ma’am, no ma’am, yes sir and no sir.
I’m from sports.
I’m from Indianapolis and Africa.
I’m from African food and tacos,
From my brother’s keeper punt for a goal,
From soccer goals over the keeper’s head from the corner,
The big brown trunk in my living room,
I am from the soccer field.

Here are my words, who he is:

He is, Elliott
He is from fast feet and action,
from created games and Kik.
He is from house number 2, with a fire bowl in the back,
smelling of spices and garlic and boys.
He is from the tall trees,
The oak and elm, cedar and pear, whose long limbs he remembers, as if they were his own.
He is from celebration and holiday gatherings around the table,
from Jonathan and Rebecca,
from bike rides, hikes, road trips, passport stamps,
and from laughter and lessons around the table each night as he eats his dinner.
He is from soccer and running, lifting and flipping.
He is from the Midwest and Liberia.
He is from Grandma's greens and my tacos,
from his brother's challenges and his sister's stories.
He is from hours on the pitch with a ball at his feet.
He is from prayers before he was born, dreams and wishes and grace.
He is from ball broken light fixtures and sock skating in the house.
He is smile and faithful, tender heart and wisdom.
He is a lover of life and Jesus and family.
He is Elliott.
He is my son, my firstborn.

3 comments:

Bodee said...

What a wonderful school experience. Thank you God that the lineage of writers marches on in our family. E - as is your Momma, YOU are an inspiration to me. Tears gently clouding my vision and that beyond-understanding lump in my throat... thank you 'Bec for kicking my emotions into gear this morning. I love you both! "E - you do a bodee proud!"

JustJess said...

This is so beautiful.

RETA said...

Lovely.

RETA@ http://evenhaazer.blogspot.com