To my firstborn and only, you were a small pup. Born at only 2.2 ounces I had never seen a face so innocent nor a smell so holy it could’ve purified the air. I’m not numb but rather I’ve never been a father before the experience as foreign as it was the first full moon I transformed under just less painful for me, your mother tho…not so much…the days are still young and as much as we wish, we are very much still human deep down. You couldn’t even imagine your grandfather’s face when I told him your moth was a Wiccan, her first words were “ such a disgrace”. Disappointing really as you expect better from those who are your elders but older doesn’t always mean wiser.
I think about you a lot, as distracted I’ve become from my emotions when I hold you the common sunken beast sinking even further but make no mistake your father is still a monster especially to many who have yet to even recognize we exist.
For decades we face something you too will have to face, being called a “monster” or supernatural; sometimes actions worse than the words the humans speak but that is a conversation for when you are in your adolescence.
It’s interesting to think of you on those dawning mornings or moonless nights, I’d hate for you to have your first experience with lycanism without your old man there to guide you on your journey. Seeing the yellow in your eyes when you were born, only should me how powerful you could have come amongst wolves and while that would make me happier than a blossomed flower. The choices you make should be of your own choice, not me or your mother, not a family member or friend should try and control or demand you to be something you don’t want or aren’t. Be proud of your heritage, it’s a long one and a complicated/violent one but none the less it is a part of you for the best of times and the worst.
I still wait on those moments to hear your voice, to hear you cry. Your mother says give it time and so does your grandmother but I want to share in a howl with my boy, to whistle into the bright moon-lit sky and let her hear our bond through the winds and travel the globe.
The world is cruel, and cold son but even the prettiest of flowers blossom out of the brutal winters that come, stand strong and never doubt yourself or your wolf.
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