I knew you were a star when

In Aisling's second grade class, each student gets to be "Star Student" for a week. As part of this, the student's parent(s) write(s) a letter to their kid and emails it to the teacher for her to read to the kid. This is what I wrote for Aisling.

I knew you were a star when
you were still in the womb
turning and pushing, not submitting
when I tried to move you,
and I knew you were strong.

I knew you were a star when
you were one year old and
you would pull all your books into a pile and read
even though you didn’t know the words
(and they were sometimes upside down),
and I knew you were curious.

I knew you were a star when
you were two years old and
you would concoct amazing
stories with your stuffed animals
creating your own little world,
and I knew you were imaginative.

I knew you were a star when
you were three years old and
you gave your grandmama
directions home from daycare,
and I knew you paid attention.

I knew you were a star when
you were four years old and
you couldn’t watch Elmo in Grouchland
because it made your heart hurt
to see Elmo yearn for his lost blankie,
and I knew you were compassionate.

I knew you were a star when
you were five years old and
you asked me what “suffered for his sanity”
meant in the song Starry Starry Night and
you understood my answer,
and I knew you were smart.

I knew you were a star when
you were six years old and
Daddy and Liam were trying everything
they could think of to pop a
soy-sauce baggie on the driveway and you said,
“or … you could cut it open and just
pour it on the driveway,”
and I knew you were funny.

I knew you were a star when
you were seven years old after
Grandma Mary died and
you wrote Farfar letters telling him
you missed her and
you asked about his day,
and I knew you were kind.

I knew you were a star when
I handed you my heart and promised
to love you forever and ever.

Mom

Respect and heartbreak

I went to a funeral a couple weeks ago for our rabbi's father. There was a cortege from the synagogue to the cemetery. I had never been part of one before, had only seen them occasionally. I did not know that people on the other side of the street pull over and stop when you go by.

Now, I already cry when people pull over when an ambulance or fire truck to go by. The idea that all these people are pulling together to help someone else is so beautiful, it makes me cry. I know it's the law, sure, but it doesn't matter. It's still people working together for someone they don't even know and never will know.

But in this cortege, seeing those cars pull over, I could not stop crying. (If I had been alone, I would have sobbed.) There was no reason for these people to stop. None at all. It was simply a gesture of respect, an acknowledgment that we all experience heartbreak. It was two minutes out of their day to show respect for people they did not know and never would know.

What could be more uplifting than simple, heartfelt gestures like this?