Dylan

Yesterday was Dylan's 8th birthday. In his class at school, every child gets a week to be "Child of the week." It's a week where each part of the day that child gets to do something special in front of the class. It might be sharing their favorite book, bringing in their favorite snack to share, or being the line leader, stuff like that. Tomorrow, the teacher will read a letter to the class that each of their parents wrote about them.

Here is my letter...

My name is Jon and I am Dylan’s dad. I want to tell you about a very special day. It was the day that Dylan was born. But first I need to tell you how Dylan came to be known as ‘Dylan’. You see when moms and dads are going to have a baby, they have the very important job of naming the baby. It is very important because that baby will have that name for the rest of their life; so much care needs to be put in the naming of a baby. There are even books of baby names with different meanings of the name to help parents choose a name. Mrs. Michell and I had thought long and hard about names before Dylan was born. We each made a list of names we liked, but neither one of us liked the names that the other one had chosen.

Then one morning Mrs. Michell woke up and said, “What do you think about ‘Dylan?”

I had no idea what she was talking about. “Who’s Dylan?” I asked.

“Dylan, a name for the baby. What do you think about Dylan?” Mrs. Michell replied. “It came to me in a dream last night.”

I had never known any Dylans before. Dylan was not a name on either one of our lists. But it sounded good. It was better than Harry, or Rupert, or Augustus. I could live with ‘Dylan’. Then I grabbed the book of baby names, to see what it said about Dylan. “Son of the sea”, is what the book said the name meant. I thought that was pretty fitting, because at the time Mrs. Michell and I lived right by the sea. We lived in Newport Beach and from our patio we could see the Pacific Ocean. We even used to take walks along the beach everyday. So Dylan it was.

We both agreed his name would be Dylan, which was better than Titus. You see Titus was the name my father, Dylan’s grandpa, used to call Mrs. Michell’s belly before we picked a name. A few weeks later it was time for Dylan to be born. One morning Mrs. Michell and I took an early morning walk on the beach. It was a gray and cloudy morning. The waves were huge that day; rumbling and climbing high, only to crash down with a large crash of white foam and salty mist. It was as if the ocean it self was filled with life and trying to spew it out. Then it was time. It was time that we went to the hospital for Mrs. Michell to give birth.

It was a perfect birth. Dylan was born with no problems. He was beautiful and healthy. As the nurse took him to clean him up, and weigh him, and do all those things that nurses do to newborns. She asked me who had crooked fingers. I thought that seemed like a very odd question.

“Uh, crooked fingers? What do you mean?” I asked.

She held up Dylan’s pinkies and said, “Crooked fingers. Look his pinkies bend in at the second knuckle, that usually runs in the family. Do you or your wife have bent pinkies?”

“I do,” I said as I raised my hand to show her. That filled me with joy to see my wife give birth to this beautiful creation that God had made inside of her that was part me and part his mother but a unique and individual little person.

Later that day, I left Dylan and his mother in the hospital and went home for the night. I looked out at the ocean before I went in. The ocean was perfectly calm. It looked like glass. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. It was if Dylan actually was from the sea, like the sea was erupting and laboring this new soul in to our lives that very morning.

That is a story that is etched in my mind so clearly I will never forget it. And I am reminded of it every January 12th.