The Book of Matthew, My Son

“Never judge someone
By the way he looks
Or a book by the way it's covered;
For inside those tattered pages,
There's a lot to be discovered”

Stephen Cosgrove     

My youngest son in many ways is very diverse and yet quite simple.  He has been a point of interest to me since his birth 36 years ago when he began to unfold before my watchful eyes.  He was sweet in nature and tormented by his two older brothers who were several  years apart.  He learned early to blame the older boys for any misfortune from the acts of his own hands, and felt the earth tremble when his sister was born.  

My youngest son was easily found in the garden digging carrots well before breakfast had been served.  He loved to quietly fish and to be outside in the sun.    Even in the winter with darkness closing in, he would be scaling the snow drifts and wandering in the light of the moon.  The security of his life was deeply shaken when his animated uncle passed after a lengthy battle with cancer.  Death was beyond his understanding and he feared being snatched from his own simple life.  He disclosed he was 'beginning to forget the meaning of stars'.

From his paternal grandmother, he learned the love of flowers and to watch most anything grow.  He seemed to have ten green thumbs which enabled life to prolifically grow.  One of his teacher's told me she could only capture his attention after fall until the arrival of spring.  Then he was gone again, his spirit wandering to other places and things.  His favorite teacher built upon his love for the outdoors and gentle nature.  She filled his plate with morsels of history from which he could explore his favorite things.  He loved to carve from old dead trees and deeply revered the living nature of things.

My son did not excel in school nor was he particularly interested in sports although he did his best to participate.  As his personality began to form, it seemed to be characteristic of Native American lore.  He loved to go barefoot and grew his hair long.  He would rarely miss the setting of the sun and even played a drum.  In college he connected with authors who taught him how to live off of the land and he visited caves with his mind speculating and sensing life times long passed.  He was growing into a man who could easily be happy to live off of the land.

He invested time with his brothers and they remained close, but his time with his sister seemed to mean the most.   With her, he would play with dolls, let her paint his nails with polish, and become her not so invisible guardian in later years of school.  He had an innocence about life that frustrated him as his world was far from peaceful and frequently touched by strife.

This son of mine, so very dear, finally fell into a profession following his brother.  He was successful and traveled far away from home, and he began to gently sand off the rough edges allowing himself to find his own home.  Oh how I loved this boy now man.  Financially secure, but losing his gentle spirit to the expected ways of the world, he again returned home and searched for a life that would support his love for the earth and nature.  He finally found his way to balance what was important to his livelihood and gentle nature.

 When his son was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, he easily replied, "To be like my dad and help people."  As a father of two, he greatly excels. Besides his accomplishments and leadership at work, he still finds time to garden.  His woodworking on pause will some day return, but he did make the highchair and crib for his children.  His little girl is the beat of his heart.

My son has tattered pages from a life force both strong and mild.  He isn't an easy book to read, but his idiosyncrasies are really quite detailed.  Pages are watermarked, edges are burned, but the book of my Matthew reflects a good man striving for his authentic life.  He is his own person, both light and dark, but I could not possibly love him any more from this place deep in my heart.