Ethan's First Poetry

Our sixth and youngest son, Ethan, was having a great time being a kid. He told me he wasn't planning to grow up, but it happened anyway. Recently, we drove him to Provo, Utah and dropped him off at the Missionary Training Center, where he will learn the Tagalog language and finish preparations to serve a two-year mission for the Church of Jesus Christ. From there, he will return to the Philippines, where he was born nineteen years ago while our family was stationed with the military on Clark Air Force Base.

Just like everyone, Ethan has special God-given talents and gifts to develop and share. One of his talents is a love for poetry.

As a young child, he strongly objected to being left home "alone" with his six older siblings and baby sister. I can't imagine why. He got into the habit of wrapping his arms tightly around my knees when I was getting ready to go, looking up at me with his big, brown eyes and begging me not to leave. I would try and explain to him that everything would be OK and that I would be back soon, but it didn't seem to comfort him.

One day, when he was about four years old, his attitude about me leaving changed as if by magic. When I approached him with the dreaded news that I was about to leave, he hugged me tightly around the knees, looked up at me, and calmly said, "Mommy, mommy . . . Do your best. Be careful. Don't do long time (meaning don't be gone long). Choose the right. I love you. You're pretty." Then he turned and went back to his play.

I was stunned. I immediately got a pen and wrote his words down, thinking I would never hear them again. But I was wrong. From that day, he repeated them every time I was about to leave, and each time, his words provided him with the reassurance that all would be well. Long after he outgrew the need to use this poignant sendoff, I had committed it to memory.

When we said our goodbyes in Provo, it was my turn to approach the moment of separation with the knowledge that all will be well and hug him . . . oh, so tightly . . . looking up into his big, brown eyes . . . and letting him go with the best counsel a mother could give.

"Ethan, Ethan . . . Do your best. Be careful. Don't do long time. Choose the right. I love you. You're handsome."