It is a powerful thing.  May it never cripple you.

It is a present visitor, even if it’s deep under your skin, deeper than your muscles, your bones.  May you always find its root.

It can be an enemy that takes you by the feet and pulls you down into the ground and below the dirt.  May your strength be better than its grip.

I’m talking about fear, son.  May you rise above fear, each fear, and may it only be a good teacher to you.  May fear be your best inspiration.

I thought of you when I heard all the cheering for the Jackie Robinson West team today.  Named and unnamed people congratulated them for their win, for their courage, for their consistent and elegant boyishness.

And I considered your future and how you would be like those boys, triumphant after having practiced and worked and played a game for fun and for sport and for your own sake.

I remember when I couldn’t cajole you into reaching for this sliding contraption, when you only looked at it with something like confusion or wonder or fear in your eyes.  And look at you, growing beyond what once made you afraid.

Keep going.  Keep looking up.  Keep being guided by your mother and me.  Keep doing what seems out of reach.