His Own Guy

Zachary made a card for Thanksgiving in school. They are learning about the local Native American tribe, the Wampanoag’s.

Inside the card, he wrote this:

“What I am thankful for

I am so lucky I have so many things. I love my family members and found of friends. I am warm all day because of my clothes. It’s miserable without a life. I love my life. Thank God “if there is one” that I was born!”


The other day he said to me, I don’t have much in common with you. I’m pretty much my own guy.

I nodded. You are your own guy. I think we have some stuff in common though.

Well, he said, we live in the same place but I don’t act like you. Or mom. I’m my own guy.

Yeah, I nodded, you are.

I read this card and I want to laugh. He is my son. He is his grandmother’s grandson. My mother would have been so proud to read the line “if there is one.” She would applaud his thinking for himself.

I see me in those words. It’s what I say to him when he tells me about heaven and God. I remind him that’s what he believes. I’m not so sure. We talk about it.

I wanted to call my mother and tell her about the card. We would have laughed together. The third generation of independent thinkers.

He is his own guy.

That’s what makes him so much like me.