Sam Is Seventeen Today

Little Sam at the Piano

Sam, you know I’m not good at remembering things. I don’t mean remembering where I put my keys or remembering important days. I mean remembering events in the past. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I don’t remember details about the day of your birth. The truth is, I have an even harder time assigning what I do remember to you specifically. For me, the births of my three children tend to run together.

However, I do remember one night soon after you came home from the hospital. You were nursing and you choked. Your lips turned blue. Your mother sat you up and patted you on the back and you were instantly fine. But it scared us. Your mother and I were tired and we panicked. I remember thinking, and I may have even said it aloud, “How could they (the hospital staff) have let us come home with a baby? We don’t have any idea what we’re doing!”

From your perspective, I probably come across as self-assured, in control, and decisive. I’ve never been one to shy away from sharing my opinions. But I have to tell you there are many times when I have felt I don’t have any idea what I’m doing.

Luckily for both of us my lack of confidence and occasional self doubt are of no consequence. You are doing just fine all by yourself. You are doing better than fine; you are doing great.

Happy birthday, Sam.