Happy 21st Matt!
April 15, 2006

Every one of my boys holds a particular place in my heart. My last born, my baby, Matt is 21 today. I am far away, in Spain, unable to hear his show and take his emotional temperature via the airwaves. I know that he does not need me around to enjoy the magnitude of this landmark. At a 21st birthday, celebration is best left to the fertile imagination of the parents. But I would trade all the tapas in the world for a big old birthday hug. So here it is, Matthew- my hug from afar to you. Con amor.

You were a surprise and a miracle from the beginning. You defied the calendar and birth control foam, giving us an early reminder that our control of our lives is a veneer. You trained us that the unexpected detour and reorganization is an opportunity for immense joy,

I know that for you, Matthew, being the lastborn is a blessing and a curse.

The blessings: calmer parents, fewer crazed expectations, built-in playmates and mentors. We let you have a binky, and didn’t sterilize it when it fell on the floor; we let you stay in footed sleepers until noon; we did not chart your walking and talking milestones. We just Let It Be, as the Beatles said. You were such an agreeable boy, always smiling. You charmed your father and me, and you charmed your brothers. You tamed the dogs.

The curses: parents with suspicious minds and a network of co-parents to watch over you; expanded expectations, brothers with whom you were compared, and by whom you were tormented, and probably worst of all for you- a sentimental mom. In you I witnessed all my “lasts”- graduation, concerts, college acceptance. I mourned too many events instead of celebrating them, because in you I saw my purpose and passion fading away. I have chased a cavalcade of dreams, but my highest calling is Family. My boys (all 4) provide me the richest life I could have conceived of. As you reach 21, I guess you might think I am finished with you. Never.

On this special day, as you lurch into official adulthood, I want you to know that you never leave my heart. I will always be here to help or listen. I am proud of the hurdles you have overcome, and the way you devote yourself to your passions. You are dedicated and determined, and we are thrilled that you have radio dreams. I hope we have armed you with the grit and rebounding skills that broadcasting life entails. Your dad makes it look easy, but he has poured his life’s blood into his work.

You and I have tangled far more than your brothers and I did. Perhaps I am delusional, but I think that your gentle soul needs to push off harder to get traction in the world. I will stay the course. Feel free to stop pushing anytime.

Think of the moments we have shared, highlights and lowlights. You almost died of an asthma attack at 2, and the Cystic Fibrosis testing had me in mortal fear until you were cleared. I watched you walking onto a plane to Space Academy when you were 11, without a look back. I wept so profusely that Dad wanted to put me into a carryon bag to get me home! I have glowed as you sang or played drums. We experienced a 360-degree spinout in the Bug, broadsided on our way to school. In your calm way, you called Dad to pick you up deliver you to first period. I bailed you out of some scrapes, and forgave you instantaneously. We did DePaul orientation together. I gave you wings, you flew, sputtered and I clipped them a bit. After a dot of time back in the nest, you soared, as I knew you would. Life is fits and starts, and I think it is better to learn not to expect smooth pathways as you go on. I am getting ready to accept that I have a reduced role. You, on the other hand, are ready to roll on, Matt.

Thank you for being my blond baby with the sweet soft skin and the Snoopy loveys. Thank you for being our dog whisperer, even when it meant whispering goodbye. Thank you for eschewing trick or treating and handing out candy with me- even in the earliest times, when you were decked out as a bee. Thank you for sharing your musical gifts, and for telling the world you loved me at Senior Salute. Thank you for knowing me, and once in awhile giving me what I crave instead of just working me. Thank you for giving me that last magical bit of mothering. I swore I would do it right, and enjoy it more with all my extra time and experience. Of course, I made a million new mistakes; but because of your sweet nature and my experience, I knew you would recover and forgive me.

Forgive me for buying the sweater with giant pom-poms for your preschool recital, and for the play I forced you to audition (unsuccessfully) for in high school. Forgive me for every harsh word that I used to scare/inspire/motivate you. Forgive me for being on a train when you were whacked with a baseball bat, and for fainting as they were stitching you. (Thanks for giving me your spot in the emergency room) Forgive me for irrationally loving my VW Beetle with vanity plates, which is now the Matt Mobile despite its chick look. (You DO look cute in it)

Especially today, forgive me for missing 3 birthdays in a row. (I will forgive you for extorting lavish gifts as a payback.)

I love you, and have for all 21 years, despite tiffs and tough times. You are our peacekeeper and our chaos maker. I will obsess forever about your unmedicated ADD, the Celiac disease which conflicts with your noodle love, and a zillion other things. I will nag and question, you will wriggle free. You will circle around when the nagging coast is clear. That’s what we do. Just remember, I have your back, Matthew Joliat Dahl. As you celebrate this big day, you think that you don’t need the help. I’ll be around just in case.

Happy Birthday