We tried so hard to make things better for our kids but we made them worse. For my naughty boys, I'd know better. I'd really like for them to know about hand-me-down clothes and home-made ice cream and leftover meatloaf. I really would. My cherished boys, I hope you learn humility   by surviving failure and that you learn to be honest even when no one is looking. I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in. I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother. And it is all right to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when he wants to crawl   under the covers   with you because he's scared, I hope you'll let him. And when you want to see a Disney movie and your kid brother wants to tag along, I hope you take him. I hope you have to walk uphill with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely. I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and read books, and when you learn to use computers, you also learn how to add and subtract   in your head. May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn your hand on the stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole  . I hope you get sick when someone blows smoke in your face. I don't care if you try beer once, but I hope you won't like it. I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your grandpa or go fishing with your uncle. I hope your father punishes you when you throw a baseball through a neighbor's window, and that your mother hugs you and kisses you when you give her a plaster of pared mold   of your hand. These things I wish for you--tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. Who wrote the letter?
A grandmother. A grandfather. A father. A mother.