A Birthday Message from the Godfather

Hi Miel,
Happy Birthday.

You're, what?  Three, four, seven?  It doesn't matter your age--not to me.  What 
matters is you're coming along nicely.  Seriously.  I've known plenty of little 
boys.  And many of them are nasty little boogers.  What I like about you is that 
you're not selfish.  I mean, sure, if you've got a little bit of ice cream left, 
you're going to guard it like a jackal.  Who wouldn't?  I would.  And in fact, 
you're less selfish than me.  I mean that.  You've got a big golden heart and a 
disarming smile.  I think a lot of people say this about children.  They say, 
what a sweetheart.  And they say "what a sweetheart" often simply because the 
child is dressed up in a cute little argyle sweater, wearing shiny little penny 
loafers, and khakis with the crease down the front such that they look like a 
tiny adult at the country club.  And typically it's Easter Sunday and everyone 
is in a good mood already, eating chocolate bunnies, and commenting on how the 
easter bunny is as coy as ever, hiding eggs in the most obscure sock drawer. 
With you, young Miel, young Robinson, it's different.  Seriously.  It could be 
a rainy day, a harsh wind coming from the north, the water treatment plant 
kicking off some foul aroma in your general direction, and you'll still carry 
yourself open-hearted.  Let me temper my unbridled enthusiasm here, though.  You 
are still a little boy (getting bigger almost every day, yes).  And as such, you 
are prone to, for example, crying over little things.  This is to be expected. 
Think about it, in the beginning, before you can talk the only way you can get 
someone's attention, the only way to chime in on the conversation and enter the 
dialogue, is by crying. In early childhood, phrases like "Hey, this is a 
wonderful souffle," are communicated in the monochrome of a cry.  Just as you 
might be complaining about the humidity of the apartment--a jab at your 
humidity-loving mother, the great water steamer Marina--you might also being 
lauding the heavens for a memorable cherry blossom.  The cry is your only tool. 
Imagine it as a hammer.  Need to use a nail?  Get out the hammer.  Roof is 
leaking?  Grab the hammer.  Ceasar Salad?  The hammer, please.  For a tiny, tiny 
boy, crying is the only tool.  And when a child is crying a lot of people get 
uneasy.  Let's be honest, it's not music.  Sure, there's some mothers out there 
that hear a child crying and they hear sweet, sweet poetry.  I think Louis 
Armstrong was like that, but I'm not certain.  To me and, I believe, most 
people, hearing a child cry is the sound of a problem.  A problem that needs 
solution.  So they throw a bottle in your mouth, they hold you, rub your back, 
and walk with a soothing bounce.  They say "shhhh" or "it's okay" or "awwww" or 
something like that.  They do these things because they want you to stop crying. 
So while I'm praising you with this lofty "you're unselfish and lovely" type of 
deal, I'm not saying that you're above the laws of a child.  By no means. 
You're going to cry and whine and make noise in the car when there is a 
difficult merge to be made.  And when you're tired and the day is not done you 
will probably get cranky, easily unhinged, testy, and, likely, a little selfish. 
This is to be expected.  But there's an aura to all people, a scent to their 
souls.  And I, a particularly sharp and observant human (though some may 
disagree), can sense yours quite well.  It is warm and gentle and giving. 
You're not ambivalent about the joys and pitfalls of life.  Your expression is 
true.  Your eyes are clear.

It is no secret that I love your parents.  They are my best friends.  And when 
you came into the picture, it was a lock that I'd love you unconditionally at 
least for the first 10-15 years and then after that I'd love you based on a 
series of complicated conditions.  But the conditions have been met, surpassed, 
in fact.  I mean this far beyond the slack we cut to children when I say that 
yours is a beautiful and rare spirit, your heart is open.  I have big love for 
you.  Happy Birthday.  I am very glad you are here with us.

Love The Godfather.