Letters To My Sons | September

Dear Cash,

Now twelve years old you stand at the precipice of teendom, although honestly, it feels as if you’ve been a teenager for some time now. Surpassing me in height is reason number one. Then there’s the shruggy shoulders, the headphones hanging off one ear, a pretty “meh” attitude about most things, and oh, the hygiene! I feel like the hygiene police constantly asking if you washed your hands, your face, if you put on deodorant. Requested drop-offs from three blocks away is a fairly new thing, side hugs and the quick below-the-waist waves when hanging with your friends. But every Mom knows to expect these things.

One on one we have pretty farfetched, grown discussions. Your curiosity leads to questions so wild I often resort to saying, “I have no clue Cash — just Google it.” Conceptual ideas circulate in your brain, the likes of which I NEVER conjured up at your age. Back in 1986, all I cared about was MTV, Madonna, trading friendship pins, and Guess jeans; and boys, of course. But your mind is an absolute spectacle. Percentages, rankings and algorithms spew from your mouth like a Tickercom. One night after sitting next to you at dinner, Gail came up and said, “Wow! Cash is somethin’ else!” and I knew exactly what she meant.

On your own time and outside of the classroom, research and analysis is your daily quest. “Mom, did you know that less than 1% of people can see music and hear color?” You school me on cryptocurrency, the metaverse, profit margins and investment returns, and otherworldly things like the physics of neutron stars, before hitting me with an onslaught of philosophical questions about the human condition. “Mom, are you paying attention?” you snap, catching my eyes glaze over and my neck drop in fatigue. It’s no secret, you exhaust me.

It’s no secret you crack me up too. Like the other day when you asked, “How does a blind person know when to stop wiping after taking a poop?” I believe I spit my drink out from laughing. These random mind-pops have come from you for years. I simply cannot remember a time when your wandering mind was idle.

This past summer was one of the best you said. Six weeks in various basketball camps, one of which was run by the Brooklyn Nets — and that was in addition to training every weekend with Dad. It’s mind-blowing how much better you’ve gotten over the short span of summer; skills on full display during B2B practice this month.

You mention dreams about playing professionally or at least going to a Division One school like Dad. “But even if I don’t get to that level, it’s still good to know how to play. It’s fun … plus I’ll always be able to play with friends.” Besides Cash, your entrepreneurial mind-pops are a pretty good backup plan. Constantly adding to that database between your ears, with stats and trivia about basketball players — both hall of fame and present day — even if you don’t end up playing, you’ll find a way to make a living relating the history of the game to current scenarios. Of that I am sure.

One thing I’m thankful for is that even at twelve years-old you still talk with me about your feelings and concerns. Walking home after your first practice with Coach Jermaine, you confided in me about one particular insecurity. “I’ve just got to work on my off-ball movement Mom — making cuts and fast breaks. I need better confidence about making the shot.”

When you’ve finished sharing, I remind you of the MJ quote you read to me during one of your Jordan studies.

“Obstacles don’t have to stop you. If you run into a wall, don’t turn around and give up. Figure out how to climb it, go through it, or work around it.” – Michael Jordan

Great advice for your developing game, but also your upcoming move to a new city, new home, new school. Your life is about to take a new direction Cash, and this kind of change calls you to rise up. Strength and growth within yourself will come over time with continued efforts, and in turn, so will your jump shot.

I promise, you got this.

Happy 12th birthday “Smash”. I love you.

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | August

A Boy And His Dog

Dear Grey,

We’ve had Lizzo for just over a year now and you’re still thanking me, telling me how much you love her, how happy you are that we have a dog, and how, to this day, you can’t believe I tricked you into thinking you were just going to see some farm animals. “I can’t believe you got a dog two years early Mom, when I was eight. ‘Cause you used to always say, ‘Maybe we’ll get a dog when you’re ten Grey or … or maybe never.’” Little did you know we’d be bringing home a puppy bulldog from that farm, named after one of our favorite superstars.

“Mom! Look at her legs! Her face! Look at her butt wiggling! Hurry look — her tongue is sticking out!” You are continuously pointing out her most recent cuteness: she is the first thing you run to in the morning, the first thing you ask about when I pick you up from school — “Mom, how was Lizzo today?” — and the last thing you hug and kiss before turning in for the night.

There’s no doubt you are one of those kids who simply HAD to grow up with a dog. Paulo was right. And while you clearly adore Lizzo in the present, it doesn’t stop you from fast forwarding to the day when you’re all grown up and have your own dog. “I want a Siberian husky when I’m eighteen years-old. Will you help me find one Mom? A breeder, I mean. And will you help me get the right food … a crate … toys? Just basically everything you got Lizzo.” I assure you that I will help, but remind you that at that age, you’ll be able to do all that yourself. “Yeah, I think it might be a good idea to start with a small pet first, like maybe a turtle or a bird, before getting my husky. You know, for practice.”

By now, everyone in your orbit — friends, teachers, tutors — knows about your future husky. You even created an illustrated essay about it last week, that Craig, your occupational therapist, showed me when I came to pick you up. It didn’t surprise me in the least.

The main reason for getting a dog was you, Grey, and it’s also the main reason for keeping one. Believe me, I’ve had my moments where I wanted to throw in the towel: hospital bills, surgeries, and poopy crates in the middle of the night. But every time I think how a world without Lizzo would be absolutely crushing for you. The love you have for her is beyond compare.

“You think I’ll be a good dog owner Mom?” you ask, while showing me a livestream of your favorite husky YouTuber. It’s not hard for me to imagine you as a young man with your loyal and loving dog beside you. “You will be the best of the best Grey! How lucky can one husky be!”

I love you. Always and forever.

Mom

Letters To My Sons | July

“Initial resistance followed by full-on immersion”

This has been my Cash summation for as long as I can remember. Not unlike Dad, you are initially reluctant to try new things. With a scrunched nose and soured face, you predictably shake your head to whatever is being offered or required. I’ve laughed with your teachers over the years about this trait because it manifests at school as well, especially when it comes to group projects and collaborations. But proven time and again, your resistance will soften as you begin to enjoy what you are doing; many times fully immersed.

When Gail said she was going to take you kayaking in Lake Michigan, you can guess what your first reaction was. But since Gail already knows this about you — “Oh, I’ve got your card Cash” — she wasn’t deterred in the least. The first day the water was calm it was time for you to strap on your life vest: “Cash — we’re going kayaking!”

Grey and I watched as you got situated into your kayaks before giving you a hearty shove. Once afloat, Gail showed you how to sit with knees slightly bent, correctly hold the oar and which strokes change your direction. As anticipated it wasn’t long before your shoulders began to relax and you settled into the fun of it. It was then that Gail said, “We’re going this way Cash!”, leading you along the coastline, far enough away that I could no longer zoom in with my camera. Even from that distance though, I could still make out a smile.

At one point you parked your kayaks in the shallow water and let the wakes caused from a passing Jet Ski rock you from side to side. Reclining, legs stretched out in front of you, you appeared rather relaxed; that is until the wakes caused your kayak to take on water. “Gail! Help! Water is getting into my kayak!”

Gail calmed your rising panic and in no time had you heading down the coastline in the opposite direction. By now Grey, Pow Pow and I were watching from the pool deck, waving and cheering you on. It makes me happy to see you enjoying something new, something you initially balked at; it’s all about pushing through that initial resistance.

Of course it doesn’t always happen this way — you tried iFly indoor skydiving for the first time this week which didn’t really vibe with you — but you were willing to give it a shot which was more than I could ask for.

And Grey Grey, I know you were really disappointed you didn’t get to try kayaking. But next summer, when you are a little bit taller and wee bit heavier, you’ll get your chance out on the lake — fully immersed in joy!

I love you! Always and forever, Mom

 

Letters To My Sons | June

Boys, you are now the proud graduates of fifth and second grade — summer vacation has officially begun! I think it’s pretty safe to assume, based on this photo, there will soon come a day when I’ll have to crane my neck to talk to you. As I watch these changes happening so swiftly, I catch myself looking at you and thinking, Wow, these are my boys. The boys I prayed so hard for.

You’ve heard the story before, but it bears repeating — for archival purposes if nothing else. When I was first pregnant, I made it no secret I wanted a boy. Of course a healthy baby was priority number one, but beyond that my greatest hope was to deliver a baby boy. This became my fervent prayer.

During one of my routine ultrasounds, Dr. Francis would cautiously whisper, “Would you like to know what you’re having?” Moving the transducer over my belly, she showed me on the sonogram where Cash’s little boy parts were and I gasped. “Papi, did you hear that? It’s a boy!” I said, elbowing him frantically. Dad was wearing headphones (mundane check-ups required a soundtrack at this point) so it took him a second to react to what I was saying. “Wait - What?! Did you just say it’s a boy?” he blurted, yanking out his earbuds. “Yes! It’s a boy — it’s a boy Papi! I’m so happy!”

Dr. Francis, who has become a dear friend over the years, said to me recently, “Remember when you were ‘One and Done’? … You were so set on it — and just look at you now with your two boys!” She’s right though. Dad and I both were content with our decision to be parents of an “only”. I even considered a hysterectomy which Dr. Francis flatly refused. Her rational was if something, God forbid, were to happen to Cash, I would be robbed of the choice to have another child. Even so Dad and I still felt having Cash was enough. That is, until that fateful Sunday morning at Redeemer when a baptism was taking place. Sitting in the pew watching the families on stage, all of which had more than one child, something came over me; tears slowly rolled down my cheeks. As Dad and I walked out of church with toddler Cash in tow, I sheepishly turned to him and said, “I think I want to have another baby.”

For me, having another baby meant longing for another boy. I have always imagined same sex siblings forming a deeper bond; as brothers I felt you’d be closer, in the long run. But I had always wanted boys too, from my earliest memories growing up. Besides, boys adore their mothers — they just do.

The second time around, I was alone in the room with Dr. Francis when she asked if I wanted to know the baby’s gender. Finding out we were having another boy, I could barely call Dad fast enough. I almost never call him at work but this was obviously urgent. “Is everything okay? What happened?” Dad asked, worriedly, as he tried to decipher what I was saying through my panicky gasps. “Yes! Yes! Everything’s fine!” I managed to get out. “It’s a boy! — I can’t believe it! — it’s another boy!” Dad and I had already decided that no matter the gender, the name would be the same, and now we knew with certainty and gratitude … Grey Davis was indeed a boy.

Leaving the doctor’s office, I called my mom next. She knew how much I yearned for this and had been praying alongside me. Swapping excitement through the phone, I felt as if I was swirling, twirling, floating through the city streets. Pure unadulterated joy. It’s clear God didn’t plan for us to be parents of an only child. It is by divine design that Grey came into this world to join and complete our family, fulfilling the deepest longings of my heart that I didn’t even know were there.

I love you boys.

Always and forever

Letters To My Sons | May

You’ve always had the most beautiful eyes Grey — juniper green with a blue rim and orange flecks. To this day I get lost in them. Of course, being nine now, you’re not nearly as receptive to my snuggles and compliments, and still, I refuse to stop chasing you around for a hug; telling you how handsome you are, how much I love you. You squirm and fight to get out of my clutches, but through your resistance, I can see your wry smile letting me know the feelings are mutual. My sweet Grey, forever the chubby, blonde, green-eyed Michelin-rolled baby who made our family whole — today is your 9th birthday!

Another year older but much remains the same. For starters, you still LOVE corn dogs, strawberries and chocolate milk. Green is your favorite color with blue coming in a close second, and you prefer baths over showers, oranges over apples, and anything chocolate over vanilla. New obsessions include Zion Williamson, a girl named Zoë, and Gatorade by the truckload. You’ve declared to one day be the proud owner of a Siberian husky “just like Nila”, the dog we see every morning our our way to school, and plan to live in Miami so you can go to the beach every day: “You can come visit me Mom. I’ll have an extra room for you.”

Our “Joy Boy” whose playful spirit, kindness and gratitude has not wavered. “Grey is well-liked and his friendships are so important to him,” your teacher has said. “He’s affectionate and loving with his closest ones.” I can only imagine what it must be like to have you as a friend Grey!

The biggest milestone this year was the removal of your braces! It’s been almost two years ago since the dawn of your orthodontia — when you first got a palate expander and were terrified of the dentist. Remember when you had to be given nitrous oxide for a routine cleaning? No so anymore. Now you’re cool as a cucumber in that chair, and when your braces came off, Oh my! — I mean, just look at those teeth! Now, like your eyes, I’ll ask to see your smile, and while you won’t come out and admit it, I can tell you feel really good about how you look.

You’re also feeling pretty confident about your basketball skills with dreams of making it to the NBA. “But if that doesn’t happen, my second choice is to be a cop. Not the kind that arrests people, but a court officer because it’s safer.”

You must be getting good at your hoop game because even Cash is doling out compliments, shocking both Dad and me. “Good job Grey!,” he shouted, after you recently made four shots in a row; and when I asked him if he preferred to practice alone with Dad he said, “No, I like having Grey play too. He’s actually getting pretty good … and, anyways, he’s better at basketball than most of my friends.”

The few times I’ve gone with you to the court, witnessing you encourage one another when competing against Dad, is absolutely stirring. Like when you got the rebound, dribbled down the full court, and made a layup. Cash wanted you to pass him the ball, but you went for it, and neither Cash nor Dad could believe their eyes; they just started laughing and cheering! “Grey’s got heart, that’s for sure,” Dad said. “He doesn’t care — he just goes for it.” I’d ask you about it later, whether you were excited, and you just shrugged and smiled. “I mean, why wouldn’t I make the shot?”

Touché Grey, touché.

I often wonder if one day you and Cash will play the way Dad and Uncle Corey did. Growing up as brothers — playing together since they were small — they always knew where the other one was on the court. “The Davis brothers” — notorious for their street style and “no-look” pass. Who’s to say you guys won’t be the “Davis brothers redux”?

On another note, I started hand painting denim jackets recently, and in turn, sparked your desire to create one of your own: “It’s going to say ‘Gamer’ on the back!” But it wasn’t long before you came to me with a crumpled up piece of paper. “Forget it Mom — I don’t like my designs. Yours look so much better.” I tried to encourage you to continue, but you were already on to the next thing.

It was then I decided to make you a custom ‘‘Gamer’’ jacket for your birthday, as bold and vibrant as you. After putting some retro Nintendo pins on the front — the final touch — I could barely contain my excitement. I think it might be my best work because of the love put into it. “I’ve got an extra special surprise for you!” I’d say once in awhile, until finally your birthday arrived.

“Omigosh — you made that?” you shrieked, grabbing the jacket to try on. Standing in front of the mirror with eyes widened and teeming with gratitude, you turned back to look in my direction. “It’s so cool Mom — thank you so much!” you said, flashing me that million dollar smile.

Happy birthday Grey Grey!

I love you.

Always and forever,

Mom

Letters To My Sons | April

The Littles

“Wait, so you mean Victor and Cash won’t be going — it’s just gonna be me and Grey?!”

Elijah was overcome by this realization when we invited him to go see the new Sonic movie. Turns out he’d been nagging his mom to take him to the movies, a place he hadn’t been since the start of the pandemic over two years ago, so he was beside himself. Plus that meant he didn’t have to tag along to his older brother’s sports practice like he usually does on Saturday. Our plan was to scoop Elijah up in East Harlem and head straight to the movie theatre, backpacks stuffed with candy and Gatorade. But it was the anticipation leading up to Saturday that was most enjoyable, evidenced by the countdown texts (via Moms) sent to one another. You were doing something that felt very exclusive, a VIP entrance to the hottest ticket in town that was just for you. Little brothers only.

The Obasi/Davis friendship goes back to the beginning when Victor and Cash were incoming students. Our connection with Jenny and Chuk at MCS’s “new families” mixer was immediate and easy; we spent most of the party drinking, laughing, and talking about our boys who were the same ages. It turns out we also had some surprising mutual friends. “They are so cool and down to earth!” Dad and I would say to each other as we left the party, and it wasn’t long before Jenny and I were making plans to meet up in the park and at Farm Outing Day before school even started. First friends for the entire family, or as I like to call them, “Day Ones”, we’ve made lots of memories over the years; and all the while, Jenny and I remained hopeful our boys would develop meaningful friendships without our persuasion. Cash and Victor have done just that, growing even closer through their love of sports, while you and Elijah have truly lit your spark this year. It may be fueled by the fact that you are finally in the same classroom (in real life, not Zoom), but I think it’s mostly your combustible spirits. Little brothers with similar inhibition, jollies and whimsy, who have created a friendship that’s on fire.

Dr. Frank Sulloway, one of the world's foremost authorities on birth order, describes the younger sibling personality as “adventurous, risk-taking, and full of exploratory zeal.” Watching you and Elijah together couldn’t put this representation more on display. The Über ride to the movies involved listening to you jump from topic to topic. First, comparing whose brother was meaner (apparently Cash and Victor have similarly cruel tendencies), agreeing that you both would rather have a little sister, to naming, in order, which dogs you think are the cutest. Next it was a game of “Rock, Paper, Scissors”, instead using “Head, Neck and Feet”. Was this your own made up version of the game — who knows — all I know is I had to text Jenny live updates, cry-laughing emojis en masse.

You happily agreed to a photo shoot after the movie (Elijah made sure his hair was done extra special that day!) and literally COULD NOT HAVE BEEN BETTER MODELS! Elijah suggested many of the poses and backdrops which, I have to admit, were quite remarkable. “Elijah!” I said, “I’m hiring you as my creative director!” Every staircase, stoop and railing was a potential shot. You guys climbed fences and scaled the sides of buildings, laughing as you struck silly and serious poses. We took so many photos that we actually lost track of time, leaving the older brothers waiting at our designated pick up spot to wonder what the heck was taking us so long.

Younger siblings are known to have the creative edge, and being a younger sibling myself, I felt very in sync with you two. I do believe we could have carried on for hours if we’d only had the time.

A few days after this outing, Grey unfortunately came down with Covid and missed a full week of school. Jenny would tell me that every morning Elijah would ask, “Do you think Grey will be back in school today Mommy?” The morning Grey did finally return to school, Elijah saw him from all the way down the block and sprinted to welcome his buddy back to school.

Jenny and I can’t help but smile when we see how close you two have become this year without any encouragement from us. It’s the manifestation of what we had always hoped for. And so, my everlasting hope, is that you keep this creative spirit lit, never dimming its brightness no matter how many times your older brother tries to snuff it — standing proud in the uniqueness of being the youngest.

I love you Grey (and Elijah!)

Always and forever

Letters To My Sons | March Madness

Dear Cash,

We have this video of you jumping up and down, shouting, “Daddy — It’s four-block! C’mon! It’s time for basketball!” At just three years old, donning the cutest little afro, you lived for this daily ritual before things like baseball, Taekwondo and Nintendo took front and center. Over the years you’d still go with Daddy and Grey to shoot hoops on the weekends, but it was more about getting some fresh air and exercise. At times, you had to be cajoled, bribed, nearly dragged to the court. But these days, instead, we hear the incessant question: Hey Dad, when are we going to go practice?

Peers become more influential as you enter adolescence, so it’s not surprising Daddy’s efforts to convince you of your god-given talent fell on deaf ears for so long. It would be the admiration of your friends at school that would create an about-face. Last fall you started coming home from school, talking about how you were “killing it” in football and basketball, and how classmates were beginning to take notice. “Cash, you’re really good at basketball,” a friend, who has played sports passionately for years, said. “I want us to always be on the same team!” As you described a “shake-and-bake'“ on the court, a crucial interception or winning three-point shot, it became clear you were discovering and relishing the spotlight. Spending more time with the athletes in your class, strategizing about your next game, you were gradually becoming what the streets refer to as a “hot dog”. But, in truth, you were becoming like Daddy.

You didn’t always seem interested in Dad’s coaching, but nowadays you devour every correction and every drill, even as he did away with your penchant for the flashy. “First things first Cash — we’re going to develop your skills by mastering the basics.” He’ll have you run back and forth retrieving his shots, even before you start practicing, “because the key is being able to make shots even when you’re tired.” One morning he had you do a hundred layups with one hand in your pocket, then had you switch and do the same on the other side. And no, it wasn’t a hundred attempts, it was a hundred swooshes, when a passerby yelled out, “Now that’s what I’m talkin about! Thas’ how you do it! I used to practice with one hand in my pocket too back in the day! You goin’ to the NBA kid if your Dad coaches like that!”

You’re quick to point out that, like you, Daddy didn’t start playing basketball until he was eleven and still ended up getting a full scholarship to a Division 1 college. “Had Uncle Corey not passed away, Daddy was on his way to the NBA, Mom.” Playing in tournaments all over the city, earning the nickname “Half Court” for his Larry Bird-like jump shot, Daddy was a regional phenom. Two years in the EuroLeague was the culmination of his professional basketball career, but his greatest hope was that one day he’d have sons to teach the game. On the verge of tears, he would tell me later that watching the NCAA Men’s championship game with you and Grey, cheering on St. Peter’s — a team coached by Daddy’s childhood friend, Shaheen Holloway — was one of the greatest nights of his life. “There was a moment I had to stop, look around and take it all in. It was incredible to be watching such an important game with my sons.”

Jermaine recently asked if you would consider joining MCS’s JV basketball team. Not surprisingly Cash, you paused, stuttered and said, “Uh…um…I don’t know.” You want to dominate first before joining the team. As you’d tell me later, there’s some kid named Gadeebo on the team who is nasty with his handle, “so I want to practice with Daddy this spring and summer and then I’ll join next season.” I don’t quite get this philosophy and neither does Gail who tried to convince you to join this season — but still, you remain steadfast in your timeline. At least you’ve signed up for three weeks of basketball camp this summer, one of which is led by the Brooklyn Nets, which will no doubt level up your game.

Lately you want to hear all about Daddy’s basketball achievements, and have a genuine interest in not only learning the game, but learning the game from him. “Basketball is bringing me and Daddy closer Mom. It’s our bonding.” This admiration was on showcase recently when Victor’s Mom asked about having Daddy coach Victor. “No way!” you said, “Even though Victor is my friend, I’m not sharing Daddy!” I laughed at your brutal honesty, but your words warmed my heart so much.

While we were in Chicago earlier this month, Pow Pow had the opportunity to watch you practice from his courtside seat. “You know Cash,” he said afterwards, “you’ve got the greatest coach in the world in your Dad.” But what has Daddy always said is most important Cash? Heart. Having heart matters most and there’s no question — you have that now.

I love you Cash!

Always and forever,

Mom

Letters To My Sons | February

Dear boys,

While it’s the shortest month of the year, February remains the longest stretch of winter in New York: bitter cold and dreary overcast skies. But this year, with Covid restrictions lifted, we decided to brighten things up by taking a trip down South to see Grandma and OT. Grey was excited because it was his first time on a plane since the start of the pandemic, and Grandma was excited because it was a chance to see her grandsons and get away for a few days to Myrtle Beach.

Grandma and OT live just 45 minutes from Myrtle Beach and yet, much to Grandmas’ demise, they haven’t made the trip to the ocean since moving back down south five years ago. I figured it was time to get them to the shoreline to enjoy a few days of family and pampering.

When Grandma first laid eyes on you boys she was so overcome. I was grateful to have captured it all on video. But Cash, the most tender part of your hug with Grandma was that you didn’t let go as she began to pull away. You hugged even longer. When she saw that you are now as tall as OT she couldn’t stop cracking up. “Cash is as tall as you OT! Oh my gosh!” she laughed, “Look at you guys — you’re eye level! Wow!!” Then she turned her head away and began to cry. She was just so grateful to see you boys, awash in feelings of joy and nostalgia. It was such a sweet, sweet greeting.

Grandma was so eager to get to the ocean that she and OT headed straight downstairs after offloading their luggage. “I’ve been dreaming of getting to the water Sarah. All these years, just to walk the beach and reminisce about growing up as a young girl in South Carolina.” We stood on our room’s balcony to see if we could spot them down on the beach. Once Grey’s eagle eyes found them, Daddy called Grandma’s cellphone to tell them to turn around and look up to see us waving excitedly.

We were blessed with blue skies and bright sunshine every day. Everything about the resort was beautiful, but I know seeing you guys brought the most joy to Grandma and OT. Grandma especially. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile that big, since, well, maybe our wedding day. “Oh Anton, you have such a beautiful family,” she said over and over. “The boys are so handsome! I’m just so proud of you, son.”

We noticed OT has slowed down quite a bit as it takes him much longer to get around and he’s very hard of hearing. Grandma shared that he has gotten much more forgetful and his independence is fading. She has to care for him in ways she never used to. I noticed your efforts to make OT feel less self-conscious by slowing down your gait, speaking loud enough for him to hear, without a hint of frustration, and holding doors longer for him. You boys were unfazed by having to repeat things several times and I’m sure your experience with Grandma Roemer has taught you some of that. Throughout the weekend you demonstrated tremendous respect, love and patience for your grandparents and it truly touched my heart. Just as Grandma is proud of her son, I can say that I’m proud of my sons as well.

I love you boys.

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | January

“You know, Cash is gonna need a bigger bed soon. His legs are practically hanging off the edge.” Daddy would come to regret saying this after spending over fourteen hours building your new bunk bed. “Why did I open my big mouth?” he joked, “I should have just let Cash sleep like that for the next three years!” Besides, you guys know me, it wasn’t long after Daddy made that comment that I was scouring the internet, snatching up a Black Friday deal for a twin-over-full bunk. In secret, I’ve let Grey to sleep on Cash’s top bunk whenever was at the MCS farm, but now it would be official and permanent: Grey would be moving up top.

For a hefty price, the furniture store offered third-party assembly of the beds, and upon remembering Daddy’s agony of putting together the old ones, I was prepared to pay. But Daddy would have none of it. He had a stellar cordless drill this time around, and besides he said, “Last time Cash helped me — remember, when he was five — with his PlaySkool tool box. Now, it’ll be Grey’s turn.”

And that’s just how it went. Grey woke up before sunrise that Saturday morning eager to start helping. First though, before the new bunk beds could be built, the old ones had to be broken down. Grey’s directive was to stack the new wooden slats, according to their numbers, while Daddy began breaking down the old bunks. Now, just for a second, imagine doing this in our apartment with our limited space. The living room became a jungle gym of mattresses and wooden planks that you had to scale in order to get to the kitchen or the other end of the apartment. And it was this way for HOURS. During that time, Daddy patiently supervised Grey’s every move, answering repetitive questions while trying to decipher the non-verbal IKEA-esque instructions. “It definitely makes the work harder, having Grey help. He’s almost TOO helpful … so things take much longer. But I know he’s excited about it, so I just try and be patient.”

Patience wasn’t the only thing needed that day; innovation proved just as vital. I’ve always said Daddy can fit a round peg in a square hole, and if anything ever needs fixing or creatively adjusted, he’s the one to do it. So every hurdle you faced you ultimately conquered. When there was a missing hinge for the pull-out drawer, you guys fashioned one out of metal from Daddy’s toolbox. When slats or pegs or screws didn’t perfectly line up, you found a way to make them. When the drill bit went missing that was crucial to completing the construction and if not found would cease everything — Grey scoured the floor until he found it. Then the one piece of wood needed to complete the staircase went missing, only to be discovered, yet again by Grey, in the pile of trash headed for the basement. As a team of problem-solvers and finders, you completed the great build by 9:00 p.m., and although it took many hours, the good news was that you were done just in time for bed.

Cash had somehow played games on his laptop while Grey and Daddy maneuvered around him all day (big shocker!), then dove onto his new mattress when he saw the completed bunk. Swimming his limbs around, he raved about how much bigger it was, shouting, “Look! I can lie diagonal! This is awesome — I have so much more space!” Of course the final touch would be new bedding, so I thought what better pattern for a gamers’ room than Nintendo controllers and Tetrus designs.

Settling in for the night the vibe was celebratory; Cash lay spread eagle across his gigantic mattress while Grey took in the view from the top. After a grueling yet satisfying day of work, Daddy ambled his way down the hallway toward his own bed to relax. There was no question the whole family was going to sleep tight.

So boys, this new year in your new bunks, I’d like to wish you “All a good night.”

I love you. Always and forever. Mom

Letters To My Sons | December

Dear boys,

You are thrilled to be spending Thanksgiving AND Christmas with Pow Pow this year, our family’s true Christmas miracle. All you have to do is reread your April letter to see how far he’s come in just nine months. Back to the time you faced a harrowing reality, Would he recover from his stroke, and if so, would he be the same grandfather you’ve known and loved all these years? You weren’t able to go inside the hospital due to Covid protocol, so instead, you stood in front of his window, waving and talking by way of Daddy’s cellphone. I could see the concern and fear in your eyes as you saw how frail he looked. But now, by the grace of God and power of prayer, he stands tall, flanked by his youngest grandsons, without even the assistance of a cane. And everything you love about him — his twinkly eyes, big belly hugs, hearty laugh and thunderous sneeze, and most importantly, his memories of you — all remain intact.

Pow Pow has always been an influential force in your lives, especially for you Cash. Your respect for him is so great and his opinion of you matters so much. So much, in fact, that when you got a little too big for your britches recently, I called on him to intercede. I knew a video chat with Pow Pow was the one consequence that would be most impactful in addressing your impudence. At first you shrugged it off, “That’s fine. I don’t mind.” But as the scheduled Zoom was fast approaching, you started to get nervous, pacing and rehearsing what you were going to say. “Do you think Pow Pow is going to yell at me? Think less of me?”, you asked worriedly. “That’s not his style Cash, you know that. He’s going to receive you with love like he always does: ‘Hiiii Cash, it’s nice to see you. How’s everything going?’” Still, I told you to be upfront about what you did; you weren’t to wait for him to draw it out of you.

Since you delivered a heartfelt apology earlier in the day, I had told Pow Pow the Zoom needn’t be long; twenty minutes was fine. And that’s just how long it was before you came out of the room, softened by the relief that it was over. “It wasn’t so bad … He told me that I have the greatest mother in the world, who’s always gonna look out for me, who always wants the best for me … but sometimes there’ll be things I don’t like — and that’s just part of life. Then he said that you grew up with a mother who’d always say, ‘If anyone’s going to be unhappy, it’s NOT gonna be ME!’”

Pow Pow would tell me later that after you greeted him, you began explaining what you had done. “I’ve got to give him credit,” Pow Pow said, “he didn’t hesitate. He jumped right in to tell me what happened. I was impressed by that.”

While not doing attitude-adjustment Zooms with Pow Pow (at least not yet), what mattered most to you Grey, was that he join us for everything on our holiday itinerary. “I only want to do the Escape Room if Pow Pow is doing it … Is he doing laser tag with us? … I want Pow Pow to do the sloth encounter! … Is he going to the movies to watch ‘Sing 2’ with us?”

This Christmas, as I look back on this challenging year, I’m most thankful for YOUR grandfather’s full recovery — “Miracle Man” you like to call him. In fact, these past couple visits, wherever we went you’d spontaneously serenade him with: “Miracle Man, Miracle Man, if he can’t do it, nobody can!”

It has been said that grandfathers bring a little wisdom, happiness, warmth and love to every life they touch. They are the magicians who create wonderful memories for their grandchildren. And it is through God’s mercy you have been given the greatest Christmas gift of all this year: More time with yours. Hopefully many years of creating memories, completing jam-packed itineraries, and yes, even tenderhearted life advisories with your beloved Pow Pow.

Merry Christmas.

I love you.

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | November

Dear boys,

We had planned to visit The Little Island, finally, but hadn’t planned on discovering the massive stretch of graffiti directly across the street. Yea, Little Island was cool and all, but what is THAT over there? Getting ourselves across the westside highway felt like a game of Crossy Road, but once there we realized, with no through traffic, we could run around, watch the pigeons’ captivating flight pattern above us, and be spontaneous. Play fighting and cosplay in full effect.

More graffiti has been popping up in the city lately during the pandemic — on subways, storefronts and vacant buildings — but this was the hugest strip I’ve seen in Manhattan. In the right setting, in this case behind what was the old Meatpacking District, it makes a bold, colorful backdrop. Finding beauty in a broken world. That’s what we’re trying to do these days as New York City recovers, and in many ways, remains in a downturn. Taking notice of the changing fall colors, the cobblestone sidewalks or the stoop with a colorful array of mums. The hot pink skies of a sunrise, the jazz quartet playing on the sidewalk near your school, and anything and everything about Central Park. Despite all the ugliness around us these days, and there is a noticeable amount, we’ve been grasping hold of what is eye-catching and beautiful, even if fleeting, and especially if spontaneous.

I love you boys.

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | October

The illustrious Amy, who at this point, is more than just our family archivist, she’s an indelible member of the Davis squad! Every October she documents our family through her lens — a tradition that’s been in place since you were little babes. Grey was a mere ten days old when Amy first trekked to Harlem for a newborn shoot and I’ll never forget looking through the peephole to see her pulling a red wagon filled to the top with props: a portable heater, blankets, pillows, swaddles, a backdrop, and lights — the brightest of which came from her smile. A fellow Yinzer with city swag and sass, it’s no surprise we became instant friends.

With a down to earth personality and talent unmatched, we really hit the jackpot with Amy; made all the more clear during the newborn shoot. Swaddled and resting on a pillow in front of the heater you made a poop Grey— a little mustard squirt, which is all ten day old babies make anyways — but without hesitation and the refusal of my help, Amy cleaned you up and carried on with the session like it was no big deal. Could I have fanned out any harder?! Clearly not just a photographer, but a very good, very chill mom.

When you guys were younger Amy would generate smiles with jazz hands, eye-high kicks and fart noises. “Cash you better smile or I’m gonna come over there and fart on you!” With kids nearly your same ages she definitely knows how to bring the laughs. And let’s not forget the creativity — each year plotting a different NYC backdrop and vibe coordinated with my family wardrobe choice. Together as stylist and location scout we’ve created quite a dream team over the years. Posing on the boardwalk in Coney Island, the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park, the iconic Staples Street in industrial Tribeca, and this year, Gantry State Plaza in Long Island City with the Manhattan skyline as our background has resulted in some prize winning family photos that we will forever cherish.

The first minutes are always the two of us pressed together in a tight squeeze — “Girl! Omigosh girl!!” we scream and squeal — bouncing up and down in a circle as you boys wait patiently for it to be over, laughing and rolling your eyes. Who knows if Amy’s like this with any other family. She says she doesn’t photograph any other families (by choice) outside of her home studio. “Only you guys cause I frickin’ love you!!” But even if she did, there’s no way the love could possibly be this fierce: the silly bribes and taunts around your every mood, the perfect one liners and the hilarious workarounds for any and every challenge. Her play flirting with Anton and “mom-life” cursing with me, as if we are sisters, not only entertains but results in some of life’s best moments. This year’s reunion was predictably more ecstatic since last year the Covid lockdown squashed our family photo dreams. Shockwaves blasted into the stratosphere, causing every head to turn and look as we scream-cried with excitement. The boys got their noogies, potty jokes and sassy talk while we gals served up some long overdue tea.

The night before family photo is jokingly referred to as “Mommy’ s Christmas, birthday and Mother’s Day” all rolled into one. Well at least you boys (and Daddy) humor me as I talk about it for days on end, having you try on different outfits and drag you to the barber. You respect how much it means to me though, and one day, when you guys are much older, it will mean that much to you too. The family tradition already touches your heart Cash. “I like that it’s something we do together every fall. It’s fun to look back and see how we look different … older and taller.” And I like seeing the memories of your life growing up in New York City. None of which would have manifested had we not crossed paths with the “classy, sassy and a bit smart-assy” Yinzer sensation that is Amy.

We love you Ames.

And I love you boys. Thanks for another family photo in the books!

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | September

“What the helllll!”, as we like to say in our best meme voices, “you’re ELEVEN!” Holy crap Cash. The only thing that makes it real to me is that we are nearly eye level. You are almost as tall as me and wear the same shoe size as me. That’s right, I borrowed your suede chukka boots the other day. But the biggest changes in your beingness — besides the pubertal changes you proudly announce — have been seismic social-emotional shifts. “It’s a sign he’s getting older,” Daddy says when I point out your restraint. Not nearly as goading with Grey or bred-in-the-bone as you have been in the past, nowadays you just let your little brother fizzle out without incitation.

Then there’s you and Lizzo. I’ll never forget what you said when we first brought her home. “She’s really mostly for Grey. He’s the one that wanted a dog so badly. I wanted a cat.” Not surprisingly, it wasn’t long before your love for Lizzo blossomed and your concern for her became a constant: “Is she hungry Mom? Is she gonna be okay being in her crate so long? I think Lizzo needs more water.” You’ve always been my “tootsie roll pop” — a bit of hard tack with a sweet soft center — who feels compassion for anything from a squished bug to the misfortunes of others around you. Being one of Lizzo’s caretakers is simply YOU leveling up.

It’s funny how all of a sudden we’ve transitioned over to some very grownish conversations. Topics like homelessness, racism, foreign affairs and inflation. Questions about drugs, serial killers, 9/11, afterlife, and even sex are not off limits. We also fake almost-curse when talking with each other, in a humorous way of course, saying things like “What the Ffffff!” and “Are you Ffffff kidding me?!” I have wondered at times what people would think about our conversations and interactions, whether they would find them inappropriate or not, but that thought is quickly replaced with gratitude for the space we’ve created; a non-judgmental zone where we can (and do!) talk about pretty much everything. Most of this is credited to you Cash. You’ve always been an open book, sharing what is on your heart and mind for as long as I can remember. And in the in-betweens we act stupid and brash until we need not be.

During my recent visit to see Pow Pow, I told him about your level of maturation. How I trust you completely and have for a long time now. Letting you walk to school on your own from the train station was a no brainer (I believe you could have done that two years ago), and knowing your capability in emergency situations gives me comfort; a city kid with street smarts and book smarts. I mean, you memorized my phone number and our complete address when you were four years old for crissakes!

While I was away you and I emailed back and forth several times a day. It was so “POG” (gamers word) to email cashmoneydavis10, fanning out over the latest dance trends, memes and TikToks by our favorite bulldog influencers.

You’ve had such a profound growth spurt this year that your bones are literally aching. This explosion in height was noticed by several parents and teachers on the first day of school: “Wow! Cash got SO TALL!” Even I find myself doing a double-take cartoon-shake when I look at you with so many physical changes in just one year’s time. But looking closely, I can still see that pudgy face and those dark brown button eyes. Somewhere behind the moaning and groaning of my favorite middle schooler is the little baby who brought me to tears every time I looked at him.

Happiest of birthdays Cash. May your Eleven be Heaven.


I love you. Always & forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | July

Well boys, it happened. After an unwelcome and lengthy separation due to Covid, we finally got the whole family together for the 4th of July. Nemacolin’s Arden Estate was the perfect harbor for our gathering: eighteen of us, spanning four generations, who survived a global pandemic, two Covid hospitalizations and one very alarming stroke. Now fully vaccinated and under one roof, celebrating a paragon of love (Grandma and Pow Pow), two additional anniversaries, a quarter-century birthday and one miraculous recovery was very much in order!

Over the course of five days we created a host of memories: bowling, swimming, fireworks and dominoes. But what stands out most is the campfire on our last night. A perfect summer evening for us to eat leftovers for dinner and then hang by the fire and roast s’mores. All over the world firelight gatherings have been the custom of our ancestors as an intimate space to dance, sing, and tell stories; crackling flames evoking feelings both calm and dramatic. As Polly Wiessner describes, “There’s just something about fire in the middle of the darkness that bonds, mellows and also excites people.” Looking back, we could not have come up with a more fitting way to close out our time together, amidst the cacophony of cicadas and tapestry of fireflies.

[ click on each photo to enlarge ]

Seeing Pow Pow hold hands with his bride of sixty-five years, as children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren laughed and played ‘round the fire was such a joy. With so many challenges faced this past year, none of us took this time together for granted. There was this palpable feeling of euphoria amongst us all, including you two. As you aptly pointed out Cash, “If Pow Pow didn’t recover from his stroke, we wouldn’t even be here together at Nemacolin.” Upon hearing this, Pow Pow replied, “Well Cash, you’re probably right about that.”

We departed the next morning, hearts filled with appreciation and gratitude. Hooray for life and hooray for love! And as Daddy always tells you boys: “Family is not an important thing, it is everything. It’s what matters most in the end.”

I love you Cash and Grey.

Always and forever, Mom

“Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you’ll look back and realize they were the big things.” ~ K. Whitten

 

Letters To My Sons | June

Dear boys,

I’ll never forget, a few years back, Paulo looking pleadingly into my eyes. “Sarah, I know it’s not easy — trust me — but if there’s any way you’d consider getting a dog for Grey … I think it would be so great for him.” As your 4/5s teacher he bore witness to your canine longing, with a daily tug of his coat each time a dog passed by your class on the way to the park. “Paulo look! Look at that doggie! Isn’t he soooo cute?!”

Since you were two years-old you’ve talked about getting a dog. Knowing the majority of the work would fall on me, I’d always say, “Maybe Grey, when you are 10 years old. But it’s a soft maybe — so no promises.” This repetitive answer was narrowly satisfactory, but you’d move on. For the time being. Then something happened a couple weeks ago. One day I just came home and told Dad we needed to talk. As he looked nervously at me, I said, “I really want to get a dog — I’m ready now.” To my surprise he said OK. “I mean, how could I say ‘No’ after the year you’ve had.”

I soon realized it would take some time. Bulldog breeders in the tristate didn’t have any pups available and wouldn’t for a couple of months. Deflated, I added our name to waitlists and joined breeder Facebook groups. Then a few days later a post popped up on Iris Farms’ page. The 10 week-old female they were intending to keep was now being sold. I figured it was futile since an interested party had already responded; Still I thought, leaving a voicemail couldn’t hurt.

When an “845” number showed up on my phone the next day, my heart skipped a beat. The woman on the other line said the bulldog was still available and asked if we wanted her. Without hesitation, I put down the deposit, agreeing to pick her up the following weekend. It all happened so fast — like she was meant for us — and after hanging up the phone, I Snoopy-danced my way to tell Dad.

Let’s surprise the boys we decided. Hiding Amazon rush deliveries and puppy supplies around the apartment was no easy feat. Dad covered the giant crate box with a blanket near his side of the bed, saying it was his DIY workout bench. A couple of times we thought our cover was blown; that instance when Grey walked in our room and said, “Mom, when we get our dog, can we name it Cookie?” Dad and I froze and looked at each other like, How the heck does he know?! But you didn’t — you just always have dogs on your brain. I told you if it’s a boy dog we get someday you can name him Cookie, but if it’s a girl dog, I get to name her. Ok. Fine.

We told you we’d be visiting a farm upstate which was just a little half truth. As we rode up the long driveway that beautiful Sunday morning, Grey shouted, “I wanna go see the goats!” First though, I said we needed to walk to the farmhouse. Once inside we saw a giant crate with a sweet little puppy face peeking over. Motioning for you guys to follow me, we went over to pet her. “Guys! This is Lizzo,” I said, “We’re taking her home with us!” You both looked at me like, Yeah right Mom, stop playin. “No, seriously. We’re taking her home with us today. She’s ours.”

It took a little while for the shock to wear off and the ecstasy to set in, that we were actually bringing a puppy home. Grey was still hung up on how we managed to pull off this surprise. “So you and Daddy planned for us to come to a farm to see animals, but really it was just to surprise us with Lizzo?!”

During the car ride home Grey and I sat in the backseat, Lizzo draped across our laps. “I can’t believe we have a dog Mom! And I’m only 8 years old, not 10. … I love her so much! … I actually feel like I might start crying … I just can’t believe this day is real!” You must have said “thank you” two dozen times during the car ride. And a hundred times since.

We played tirelessly with her when we got home; doggy accidents everywhere, but none of us were bothered. “Who cares Mom, I love her even more!” Then the belly laugh came when Cash, THE MOST foot sensory-defensive person in our family, shouted, “Oh Noooooo! I just stepped in Lizzo’s poop!!” When he lifted his leg we saw the poop flattened and stuck to the length of his foot and couldn’t keep from laughing. Cash started laughing too which is how I knew, even as a self-proclaimed cat lover, he had made room in his heart for Lizzo.

By the end of the day, we found Lizzo had snuck off to the bathroom to sleep on the cool tile floor; belly up and legs extended in the quiet of her forever home. When she woke up in the middle of the night, Grey did too. “I love her so much Mom, I don’t care about going back to sleep. I’d rather stay up.” Shrugging our shoulders, we looked at each other as if to say, What in the world else would we wanna do?

After being scolded by Cash that we were making too much noise, we grabbed our pillows and moved into the office with Lizzo. Lying on the floor beside each other with only the light from the Verizon building illuminating the room, Lizzo climbed over and around us. Giggling together, I realized this dog was just as much for me as it was for you. That I would never ever forget this moment. Magically deserving of its own musical score, I knew you’d never forget it too.

The next day I brought Lizzo to MCS, strapped to my chest in a puppy carrier, for all your friends to see. That’s when we saw Paulo whose comment had continuously echoed in the back of my mind. “Paulo! Look! We did it! We got a dog!” Bending down to meet you at eye level, he said, “Grey! I’m so happy for you! You got the dog you always wanted! Which goes to show you friend, dreams do come true! Never stop believing!”

During our walk home you shared a secret. “Mom do you know that when I blew out my birthday candles a few weeks ago, I wished for a dog? But I wanted it to come true so badly, so I didn’t tell anyone. And then it came true — like Paulo said.”

Both of you have bonded with Lizzo, in agreement that she completes our family and unable to imagine life without her. It has been a pleasure watching you welcome her into our home and into your hearts. Our newfound joy and the source of spontaneous laughter and sleepless nights, she came to us at just the right time.

I love you boys.

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | May

Happy 8th GreyNinja!

The understatement of the year, literally and figuratively, would be to say how much you’ve grown. No doubt you’re still the tallest in your class — that’s a given — but these days, according to your teacher, you’re also one of the top readers. Fearful you’d fall behind during the pandemic, we hired a reading tutor to work with you work five days a week and it’s more than paid off; your confidence and leadership skills have skyrocketed in the classroom … and, well, pretty much everything else.

What remains constant is your love for “stuffies”, comprising nearly all of your gift requests (again). Since Floyd the Flamingo has been showcased pretty heavily these days, we scheduled “The Flamingo Mingle” encounter at the Aviary. Sadly it was canceled due to an extended mating season, but you were still able to have an encounter with a Falcon. As usual, you were cool with it, saying, “It’s fine Mommy. I love all types of birds.”

Sticking with the bird theme, you yourself have become a bit of an early bird: For Zoom classes, school drop-offs, and chores that need to be done. In the morning you’re the first to make your bed after breakfast, which by the way, you do exceptionally well. You often ask me to pick up the pace when we’re headed somewhere, which has actually surprised me. I would’ve pegged Cash as the only one to have this traditionally “first born” trait, but you’ve caught the bug as well. As Pow Pow says, “Being early never hurt anybody,” so good for you Grey!

In the past I’d remind you what time your Zoom classes began, but nowadays, I find you already seated, logged on and ready. Same goes for tutoring. You always know how many minutes you have until it’s 4:00 p.m., which has also surprised me. With things set up ahead of time, exactly how you like them, there’s no question you’ve leveled up your independence game.

Still though, we cannot sleep on Grey the jokester. Like when you ask me to brush your teeth, only to say, once I’ve gone into the bathroom, “Just kidding Mom! I already did it!” I fall for it every time. Or when you come show me you changed your underwear but really just pulled them over your dirty pair. Or when you hide behind the bathroom door in the same exact hiding spot every.single.night. Calling out for Daddy or me to come look for you, you’re always mystified by how we “discovered” you, doubling over with laughter and pride.

But, most shocking of all this year has to be the growth in your vocabulary. I passed out when, during a routine disagreement, you called Cash a “fucking dumbass!” My sweet baby Grey — where on earth did you learn those words?! “What,” you said non-chalantly,“I mean, he IS a dumbass. And those aren’t bad words.” Stifling my laughter, I assured you that they are in fact bad words. Then ran to tell Daddy.

As you turn eight, you still love the color green, corn dogs and anything chocolate. Dogs remain your spirit animal, and your newest dream job is to become a “trainer for police dogs.”

Whispering in my ear that you’ve moved on from Kimaya, “I have a crush on Amelia now. But shhhh. Don’t tell Cash!” A quiet, sweet little girl with long blonde ponytails, who, according to your teacher, has a similar disposition as you. “They definitely have a loving friendship.”

At this tender age, I’m grateful you still want to hold my hand, ask me to lie down next to you when you’re scared of the dark, and put aside M&Ms that are yellow because that’s my favorite color. You ask me not to leave town which I’ve done quite a lot recently. “Please Mommy, I want to go with you. I don’t like it when you leave and I have ‘Just Daddy’ days.”

Grey Bear, you are my rocket of awesome. My forever baby. My cutie pie with the green eyes and edible face. And I have a sneaking suspicion that eight is gonna be just great.

I love you Grey Grey.

Always and forever, Mom

Letters To My Sons | April

Dear boys,

Just three months after Pow Pow recovered from Covid he gave us another scare. Suffering an AVM (arteriovenous malformation) rupture — more simply a type of stroke that causes bleeding in the brain — he was rushed by ambulance to Allegheny General in downtown Pittsburgh. It was the middle of the night when Gail and Elio got the dreaded call, packed a few things and hit the road. One day later we would arrive.

I really don’t know how we managed to get through this past month. So much of it is a blur. Several trips to Pittsburgh, countless sleepless nights, lots of tears and lots of prayer. But you guys seemed to manage okay. I suppose you’re better at compartmentalizing your feelings since you don’t completely understand that the loss of a loved one is not temporary, especially with someone you are close with. Although one day Cash broke down crying when we received some discouraging news. “I’m trying not to think about Pow Pow Mommy. It makes me sad. We should pray for him right now.” Moving closer to each other so we could hold hands we bowed our heads and prayed.

Turns out a whole lot of other people were praying for Pow Pow too. It was a day to day wait-and-see whether he would recover without any damage to his brain or quality of life; but while doctors were preparing us for things to go either way, Pow Pow began getting better. By the second week in the Neuro ICU his blood pressure stabilized and the bleeding in his brain had stopped. He started opening his eyes for visitors — one of the more exciting moments — eventually focusing, and speaking a few (inaudible) words. Soon he was answering the nurses questions like what year it was, his name and the names of family members. And although he’d ramble nonsensical dialogues and was often greatly confused, at least he was trying to communicate. For the first time a feeling of wondrous hope swept over us.

The neurosurgeon said that surgery was too risky for someone of Pow Pow’s advanced age. His body’s response to the removal of the shunt would be the determining factor in his recovery. Placed there when he first arrived to drain fluid and relieve pressure, its removal was one of the final tests. Because of this he’d be under close observation for 48 hours. When his body was able to adjust and do the work on its own, there was no question it was a miracle! Soon he was using a walker with assistance, sitting up in a chair, answering questions more articulately, and because he could swallow on his own, the feeding tube was removed. Before we knew it, Pow Pow was being discharged to a rehab hospital — the best possible outcome — and the darkest period had come to an end.

Because of Covid restrictions, unfortunately you weren’t able to go inside the rehab. But you were able to come up to Pow Pow’s window, at which point I’d call Daddy’s cell so you could talk through speaker phone. As Pow Pow so eloquently put it, “We were making chicken salad out of chicken shit.”

He hadn’t seen you in real life — if you can believe it — since Christmas 2019, and it meant so much to him that after you left, he couldn’t stop telling me how wonderful it was. I believe your window visits and the visits from other family members lifted his spirits and helped his recovery. He had something to look forward to each day that gave him the hope, will and inspiration to work harder.

When you and Grey headed back to the car, Pow Pow said, “That was Cash? Let me see him again.” I rapped on the window and motioned for you to come back. He wanted to see your face one more time, to encourage you to keep doing well in school and, in his playful tone, remind you to listen to your mother. There’s no question he’s making progress since those are things he has always said to you Cash. As you looked at him through the window, I could see your eyes soften and your smile widen, even with your mask on, and a sense of relief come over you. The Pow Pow you know and love was making a comeback.

Always and forever,

Mom

Letters To My Sons | March

Dear boys,

We recently suffered an unbearable loss. While we had only known George for a fraction of his 30-year tenure at MCS, we loved him deeply and dearly. Traveling a long distance to work, he was always the first to arrive to school each morning, greeting generations of students with high fives and a loving smile. Both watchkeeper and emotional touchstone for staff, students and parents alike, he made sure that every child started their day knowing their presence mattered.

Neighborhood kids appreciated George’s high fives too. He once told me that a little girl would ask her mother to walk down 85th street, not because she went to school at MCS — in fact going down that street was out of the way — but because she wanted to say hello to him. That’s just how special he was.

Before Grey was old enough to attend MCS, we’d drop Cash off and head to preschool. That’s when Grey and George’s friendship blossomed, each morning playing a silly game of hide and seek. He would pretend not to see Grey in his hiding spot, looking all around only to give him a big tickle when he “discovered” him.

Fleeing his birth country as a young man he taught himself to speak over seven languages, traveling through numerous countries before making it to America. George always led by example, sharing life lessons with those he cared for. If a student was up to something, he’d say, “We were young once too.” And every time I left the building saying, “See you tomorrow George!” he’d reply, “God willing.”

George was the one to put Cash’s bag on the bus for his very first farm trip. Afterwards offering a few words of encouragement before he headed on his first sleep-away. It’s because of this love George spread to those of us fortunate enough to know him, that I burst into tears when I read about his passing. Cash came beside me and rubbed my back as I sat with my head in my hands. Sobbing. “I’m sad too Mommy, I’m just not crying like you.”

For the next few weeks teachers processed with their students the tremendous loss of George for our school community and hundreds of alums. Current students, including both of you, made a mural of hand tracings with written memories, signifying all the high fives you’d received over the years from George. It hangs on the wall at the top of the staircase. While it’s difficult not seeing him standing in the doorway every morning —another victim of this vicious Covid — there is comfort knowing he is with his heavenly Father whom he served faithfully, keeping watch over us still.

Rest in peace George. Always and forever.

The Davis Family

Letters To My Sons | February

My superheroes,

Last month it was announced that in February those that wanted to could return to hybrid in-person learning. A reopening plan included everything required of families to make a safe return, and being away from school for eleven VERY long months, I was willing to do any and all of it: covid tests, staggered arrival and dismissal times, signing the community pledge not to travel out of the tristate or have contact outside of our immediate household. And no, it didn’t matter if it was every other week that you’d be in-person — adding up to only about 30 days til school’s end — at least it was something. At least on those days you’d be amongst your friends, with real life teachers and structured outdoor play.

Grey’s first covid test

Lately there’s been lots of talk about mothers living in a perpetual state of burnout during this pandemic. As Mita Mallick puts it, “There are the moments when the flame is lit again, and then dims, and then completely, the flame is gone. This is what happens when entire communities are ripped out from under us. We are completely on our own.”

Yes, mothers of young children are the warriors during this time, but what about the kids? What about you guys? You are the real life superheroes! Writer Christine Derengowski describes this realization when her seven year-old was on the brink of tears trying to complete another virtual writing assignment. Rather than having another battle over getting it done, she sat down next to him and said:

“You won’t get in trouble and you can’t fail first grade. In fact, you’re kind of a superhero. Do you know that no kids in the history of kids have ever had to do what you’re doing right now? No kids in the history of kids have ever had to do school at home, sitting in their bedroom, watching their teacher on a computer. You and your friends are making history.”

A visible weight lifted from her son’s shoulders as she told him how proud she was of him for rolling with the punches, apologizing for not saying it sooner and more often.

“Kids this year are doing the impossible and they’re doing a great job. We’ve thanked everyone from healthcare workers to grocery store employees but we haven’t thanked the kids enough for bearing the burden of what we’ve put on their shoulders this year. They are the superheroes in this whole scenario for having ZERO say in their lives but doing their best to adjust every day.”

I couldn’t have said it better and right then commended you both on your adaptability: for abruptly leaving school only to switch to online learning for months on end, isolated from your friends and extended family, and finding contentment in our apartment with almost none of the things that you were used to available. Like superheroes with special powers —masked vigilantes! — you have fought through an unprecedented time in history.

While there were certainly times wrought with fighting, I’ve watched your relationship deepen and grow stronger. I mean, how could it not if you think about it. You’ve been each other’s one and only playmate for nearly a year!

Naturally there were mixed emotions about returning mid-year with so many changes: all-day mask wearing, socially distanced desks with partitions, open windows in the classrooms, lunches with no talking and bi-weekly covid testing to name a few. The night before, anxiety mingled with excitement kept Grey awake. Only running to our bedroom to ask questions about the next day’s return could calm his racing mind.

Then the next morning it happened. After doing the few necessary protocol steps, you waved good-bye and walked inside the building when it was your turn; one foot in front of the other just like every other day. Parents, prohibited from entering the building, waved back, exhaling a sigh of relief. Through our masks, we gave one another a shell-shocked look as if to say, Did we really just go through that?! — what was supposed to be just two weeks?

Maybe, just maybe, this first day symbolizes a first step toward normalcy. I joked that as you walked inside, I turned on my heel and ran like the Road Runner, dust clouds trailing behind me for that first taste of solitude. While there’s plenty of truth in that, I was also comforted knowing you are safe and cared for and learning from amazing teachers, who are giving their all for your future.

Cash and Grey, you, along with all your friends, are legendary in your superhero-ness, securing your position smack dab in an unprecedented piece of history. You have shown incredible fighting prowess this past year and I stand in awe of your ability to create and experience joy together with very limited means. Not the worst skills for a superhero to have honed.

I love you boys. Always and forever,

Mom

Letters To My Sons | January

Dear Grey,

I can’t believe we made it to this point, but you are now the brave wearer of a palate expander for the next six months. And more than just our “Joy Boy” it turns out you’re also a “Super Trooper”!

For starters, it’s never been easy for you to go to the dentist. Along with being sensitive to loud sounds and having your petite mouth stretched open, you’ve also got a hypersensitive gag reflex. Your last cleaning ended in a complete panic-attack-meltdown with throw up all over you, me and the dentist. Needless to say that cleaning was never finished though my search for a dentist who offers nitrous-oxide immediately began.

There’s a pediatric dentist on Park Ave praised for her work with anxious children, and while out of network, I decided it was worth the trek to the east side and the extra cost for laughing gas. “Whatever it takes” was my motto to get through routine cleanings and hopefully the placement of long overdue sealants. Besides tingling fingers and wagging feet from being “high”, you made it through both procedures without panic or a single tear! Go dentist, Go Grey!

It was actually a good thing we switched to a different practice because their orthodontist determined you needed a palate expander. What the heck is that?! I thought. I’d never heard of one, but come to find out they’re really common and lots of my friends kids have had them. A retainer-like device, placed across the roof of your mouth is tightened every other day, gradually expanding the palate so crowded teeth can more easily descend. Sounds easy enough, right?

Still, I prepared myself for those first days after its placement, getting advice from friends and mommy blogs saying to invest in a kids water pic, offer unlimited ice-cream, and ready yourself for an uncomfortable, drooling and upset child for the first couple of days. But also, every single person promised that yes, it does get better … just hang in there … he WILL get used to it.

They were right. Those first 48 hours were rough going. Your rage was unlike anything I’d seen from you before. Crying out that you were hungry through slurred speech, refusing to eat ice-cream, rolling around on the floor sobbing, throwing your stuffed animals, kicking your bed. “This isn’t fair! How long do I have to wear this Mommy? I can’t eat and I’m SO hungry!! I HATE this!” Your brother scarfing down Shake Shack in the other room probably wasn’t helping much.

Those first days you settled for and survived on Gogurts, chocolate milk and chocolate pudding. Then gradually you started eating sausages, meatballs and peanut butter and most of the other things you love. The only things you had to give up were your favorite cashews and anything chewy. We learned this the hard way when one of my my Christmas cookies caused your expander to loosen on one side — bad Mommy! — but thankfully we got in to see the orthodontist before the holiday weekend. And get this — you had it removed, repaired AND replaced WITHOUT ANY NITROUS! I couldn’t believe it! She asked you if you wanted any or if you thought you could get through without it. “I don’t think I need it,” you bravely said. I couldn’t have been more proud.

On our way home after your nitrous-free visit!

Nowadays you don’t even notice it. You eat without hesitation and never complain when it’s time to tighten the expander. Sometimes you even tell Daddy he didn’t tighten it enough. Teeth are now coming down, space is being made between them and the orthodontist said it’s even helping your underbite. So much so that you may not need the nighttime retainer they planned for you to use.

In such a short time you came such a long way, overcoming your fears and discovering the courage within yourself. When I tell you how beautiful your smile is and how incredibly the palate expander is working, you can’t hide the pride. You can’t help but smile.

And thankfully you are back to scarfing down Shake Shack — your favorite burger and fries — alongside your brother. Like nothing ever changed.

I love you “Super Trooper”. Always and forever.

Mom