/ Friday

"Dad, can Cameron spend the night?"

Dear Tristan, I hope one day you will realize how much of a decision this actually is, allowing another human being who is as loud and messy as you to stay in our home rent- and consequence-free.

"No."

"Pleeease!"

"Ask your mom."

"She said to ask you."

Overheard from the other room, "I said 'NO!'"

"Then no."

"PLEEEEEASE!"

"Fine. Now shut up."

Dear Tristan, I hope one day you will realize that adults who are losing their hair require silence in the house above all else. This requirement is non-negotiable at 3 AM.

"Hey! What is the racket?"

"Cameron keeps telling me jokes!"

"Sorry!"

"Okay, here is a joke: Knock knock."

"WHO'S THERE???"

"SHUT THE HELL UP AND GO TO SLEEP!"

"I like it when your dad says bad words!"

Dear Tristan, I hope one day you will realize how much I always liked saying bad words in front of you and Cameron.

"Dad?"

"What?"

"Cameron was wondering if you had any batteries. The flashlight doesn't work."

"Sometimes the light goes out too soon. That means it's time to sleep."

Dear Tristan, sometimes the light goes out too soon. I am sorry for this.

* * *

"Dad?"

"No."

"Can I go to Otter Beach with Cameron?"

"Sure."

"Really?"

"OF COURSE NOT."

"But Cameron is allowed to go!"

"Look, you may not realize this, but do you know why we do not allow you to go out all over the place by yourself?"

"Because you love us?"

"No. Because exercising our authority at home is how we release our frustrations from being told what to do at work."

Dear Tristan, of course it is because we love you.

* * *

"Tristan!"

"What?"

"There is a four year old kid underneath the kitchen table!"

"That's Sean."

"Oh, that's Sean."

"…"

"Tristan?"

"What?"

"WHO THE HELL IS SEAN?!?"

"That's Cameron's brother."

Dear Tristan, if you ever let your younger sister out of the house, you will be reading this from the Witness Protection Program.

"Hey, guys, would you stop running out onto the dock?"

"Why?"

"Dad, tell them about that kid who drowned here!"

"Tell us!"

Dear Tristan, there are some things I didn't tell you and Cameron about that kid who drowned. I didn't tell you how I could hear his mother screaming from across the lake. I didn't tell you how every one of us wanted desperately to dive into the cold, dark waters. I didn't tell you how helpless we felt, how my own near drowning as a child has never wandered far from my memory, how I could never think about that kid without imagining my own children off that unforgiving shore. This was just last weekend, and as much as I was desperate to frighten you back onto dry land, it was your tenth birthday, and I didn't want it to be burdened with lessons disguised as warnings disguised as our own worst fears.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son."

"You heard about Cameron and Sean?"

"Your mom told me."

"Even the kids who didn't like him today were crying."

"I know. I know."

"Were you crying?"

"I was crying."

"I'm going to hang up now. I can't talk anymore."

"I know, sweetie."

Dear Tristan, some children grow up so very fast we cannot possibly keep up. It may not seem fair how dimly we want you to burn, how long, how close to home, close enough to hold you out of the winds, in our hands, nearer to our chest, in our laps, our sight, our hope.

Know this about your friend. He was the oldest nine year old I ever knew. He said hi to me almost every evening I came home from work. He called me by my first name, and he had earned it. Once, I came home after dark from a run, and I saw him walking home by himself. I picked him up and drove him the rest of the way and it reminded me of when I was that age, and we were allowed to roam miles away from home. I never begrudged him this freedom any more than I restricted it from you. There are no easy rules when it comes to how we raise our children.

We are richer for our friendships in life, however brief they may be. We are some of us so very much richer than others, however much it may not seem.