Happy Hanukkah, my boy!
As the candles get ready to glow and the house fills with the smell of latkes, I want to tell you how proud I am of you. You are nine years old, and you make my heart feel full every single day.
I think about our first night, when we stand side by side at the stove frying latkes together. The oil sizzles, the kitchen gets warm, and you are right there next to me, helping and laughing. That is one of my favorite moments of the whole year. I hope we never stop doing it.
I love how thoughtful you are. You think before you move, whether you are studying the chessboard or figuring out where the next ramp goes on a marble run. I love watching you build something piece by piece and then cheer when the marble makes it all the way down. And yes, you are a little competitive, and I think that is part of what makes you so determined. You also make me laugh so much. Your jokes always arrive at just the right time.
I was so proud when you taught your little cousin to play dreidel. You were patient and kind, and you made it fun for him. That is what a good heart looks like, Ezra. I also know how much you love baking with Grandma. The two of you in her kitchen, with flour everywhere, is a picture I treasure.
When the candles are lit and the room goes soft and golden, I hope you feel how safe you are. You are wrapped up in a family that holds you close, tonight and on every night, bright or quiet.
Whether you win or lose, whether your marble run works or tumbles down, I love you. That will never change. You are my son, and you are my joy.
