This is a toughie due to the many potential pitfalls. I’m a dad on a bragging broadcast about my son—bad look. I’m a dad publicly boasting about my preteen, self-conscious kid—the worst look for a middle schooler. But, I have to tell you about this sapling in my Aspen Grove that adds vitality, vigor, and worth to my days! So here’s my solution: I’m sticking to the prompt, “Get to know Wes, he makes life better.” I’m simply sharing what I’ve learned from this boy, and Wes gets to continue his life in middle school with minimal embarrassment and a mostly intact reputation. Unfortunately he has a dad writing a blog about him. Of course some embarrassment will ensue.

I’ve learned to laugh at anything! I didn’t need much help with this. I think a lot of things are funny, but Wes has helped me realize that everything can be funny. He can’t help but fall into laughter when we joke him out of a grumpy mood. I love the unstifled laugh, the can’t catch your breath laugh, bent over, stumbling around laughter.

“What’s so funny, Wes?”

All you get in response is a squinting, teary eyed shake of the head—unable to even spit out a single sound. If you raise your nose above potty humor and private parts jokes, we’ll just assume you’re trying to sniff a fart.

Wes continues to teach me that being empathetic is costly, but worth it. He’s shown me that exercising empathy is to live a rich life. 

As a Cleveland Browns fan, I live by the motto misery loves company. So I had a hard time processing the exchange when Wes said to me, “I want the Bengals to win this playoff game and go to the Super Bowl because that would make Uncle Ryan and Cole (his cousin) happy.” Here’s what would make me happy: the Bengals lose, so at the next family get together I’m not the only one sulking about my terrible NFL team. Don’t worry, Wes is still working on me.

How about the painful side of empathy? So many times Wes has witnessed someone being mistreated. He’ll come home devastated by the injustice, hurting with the victim and dumbfounded by the offender. Connecting with others on such a deep level is exhausting, but rich. The other two people I live with have empathy endurance. I can 50 yard dash empathy with the best of them: “Sorry things suck for you, I know how it feels.” Yada, yada, yada, “I gotta go.” My tendency is to flee from others in trouble or conflict. Through his example, Wes continues to show me how to stick around for others in need. Wes excels at the immeasurables and I find such joy in it.

I’m quick to associate youth behavior with stupidity and recklessness, but what if I allow Wes and those his age to open my eyes to God’s splendor. Being a teacher, I’ve been trained to intervene and make use of every possible teachable moment. Do you know how many teachable encounters I have each day? I’m with middle schoolers—at work and at home. The teachable moments are endless! 

But God has recently been teaching me to lay off. He’s been telling me, “I don’t need you to stand in for me constantly, wagging your finger while instructing Wes how to live.” No one wants to follow that. Instead, I’m going to follow the advice author John Green received while he was serving as a hospital chaplain, “don’t just do something. Stand there.” 

That’s what I get to do; I stand here and watch Wes live. If he needs me, I’m standing here, and he knows that. And when he doesn’t need me I’m standing here, and believe me, he knows that too! God’s beginning to get his message through to me. I’m not charged with fixing this world for Wes. 

What a blessing, to see a sapling rise and expand in my Aspen Grove!