Knock Things Down: A Wish for My Son

I sit cross-legged on the cool tile in front of you, the clear plastic bucket of toys in my hands. Your slate-blue eyes are wide with excitement; your body can barely contain the joy.

It’s time to play with blocks.

I love building with blocks, and the wooden toys bring back childlike memories of my own endless architectural adventures. Soon, my own fingers buzz with anticipation. How tall can I build this tower?

You can stack blocks, but at this age, your excitement stems from knocking them down. Destruction. The crash, the crumble.

I bite my lip to tamper my frustration, as every time I build more than three or four blocks high, you knock my fledgling tower down. This isn’t about me and my nostalgia. It’s about you.

But soon, we fall into a rhythm of laughter and collapse. I race to build so you can knock them down. Every few minutes, you’re so overwhelmed with what my therapist calls “secure attachment,” that you squeal, “Mama!” and throw your entire body against me for a hug.

The towers get taller. The booms get bigger.

We’re creating just to destroy. I have a brief thought of words like process art, transient art, beauty in destruction. This moment, these blocks are as beautiful as the sand painting I once watched a Renaissance fairy painstakingly create, then wipe away.

The moment passes, and I return to our game. Build. Destroy. Laugh. Build. Destroy. Laugh.

I hope you always knock things down. I hope you always find beauty and soul-cleansing laughter in a kind of destruction.

Oh, darling. I want you to build things, too. I want you to build a life you love. I want you to build up the people around you. And of course, I want you to help build a better world. It’s what any mother wants for their child.

But I want you to knock things down, too.

When your life does not make your soul burn brightly, tear it down and start from scratch.

When you’re in a relationship that does not serve you, does not make you both grow, knock it over. Take your memories and lessons and walk away.

Knock down barriers for those less privileged than you. Pull the walls of oppression down brick by brick—or by bulldozer—even when that oppression serves you.

When you look in the mirror and see a stranger, when you have lost the fiery essence of your beautiful spirit, take yourself apart until you find that ember.

Build things. Grow things. But know when to knock them down.

My deepest wish for you is to never fear knocking things down.

Hear the crash. See the crumble. Take a deep breath in the ruins before you start to build again.