On Friendships
A Letter From Your God Mother, Rachel
If you’re new to Raising Myles, Welcome!
I write letters every week to my son, Myles, sharing my journey as a first-time dad and spreading the love I didn't experience myself. I am using my writing to put towards his college fund. Myles is now 10 months old.
If you’ve been here before — thank you for coming back. If you’re new here, below are some good places to start:
Read my most recent letter to him - Pictures Can’t Hold Full Stories
Dear Myles,
When I prayed for a sister when I was young, God answered in high school and gave me
. If He decides to pull the plug early, I will rest easy knowing you are in the hands of my best friend and sister, Rachel, and her very Haitian husband, Phil, whom I’ve grown to love as my own brother.Did you know it was Rachel who first told me that writing these letters to you was a good idea? When people say, "Show me your company, and I’ll tell you who you are," I laugh and smile because Rachel is not company; she is family, she is your godmother, your marren.
Love,
Daddy
44 Weeks Old
Dear Myles,
There's a lot of sayings about friendship:
"Show me your friends, and I will show you who you are." "We are the average of the five people we spend the most time with." "Birds of a feather flock together."
My favorite is "Friends are the family you choose."
Where blood can't make you closer, and their children become your children because that's what family does.
It's a reminder caring for your people is beyond responsibility, duty, or loyalty, and words that won't suffice. It's whole-hearted decision-making. It's a wide welcome. It's a soft spot. It's vulnerability.
You and I have friends in common.
Friends of mine whom you call Mom and Dad.
I met Marc in the summer of 2006 in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. Incoming 9th graders were required to attend a bridge program to acclimate with our surroundings for the next four years. Those days were fun. The school was largely empty because the other grades were on break, and instruction did not last the entire day. Once classes ended, students would exit the building and gather lazily nearby, in groups, or splinter off to get food.
There was a chicken spot across the street, a bodega diagonally to that, and West Indian food a few doors down from there. If you were willing to take a walk, there were even more restaurants down the block. It was normal to bounce between a few spots, debriefing about one's day to the sounds of unwrapping parchment and crumpling foil.
You'd often hear a security guard yell, "GO HOME!" in an attempt to disperse those who hung around after dismissal. They grew tired of seeing us beyond what was mandatory by work, but we remained unmoved by their chafe, lingering because everything was so new, and all of it seemed to matter.
They had a job to do, and well, we had one too - to see and be seen while making the most of school in the summer.
I imagine it was during this mix that your Dad and I first crossed paths. In high school, your Dad wore grey high-top Dunks, was fast-talking, curious, and easily made people laugh. He's still very much the same, even with the stack of years between then and now.
Back then, I wouldn't have been able to name what exactly it is that makes our friendship possible though now I know it is sincerity. Your Dad owns his perspective without being filtered, acknowledges others' needs without negating his own, and works so damn hard because he knows abundance is a common good. He's always been that way—mindful beyond the self.
Summer changed to fall and brought with it the school-age monotony of homework, preparing for exams, and gossip about who was on the brink of a fight. I'll let you in on a secret. The extraordinary is not the foundation of friendships. It's the mundane. A life full of brief, carefree moments like side talk in the halls while hurrying to make the bell or trading snacks and opinions of music during lunch. There's the helpful closing of a bookbag left mistakenly wide open and being nudged awake as the train pulls into your station so you don't miss your stop. Without thinking about it, over the years, these moments tally hundreds thousands of times where we show up for each other uncoerced.
When it comes to your Mom, our meeting was more delayed. Although I was nearby during your parent's chance encounter at Made in America, I walked ahead chatting with friends still buzzing from Rihanna's performance. I became privy to the magnitude of their moment sometime afterward.
Your Mother and I were formally introduced years later at a day party named after a popular Sly & The Family Stone song. I arrived in the early afternoon, eager to reconnect with friends over cold drinks and reggae beats. Your parents rolled through just before the sun painted the sky garnet and apricot with its descent. Having moved back to NYC weeks prior from years in North Carolina, I thought I was familiar with what the South had to offer. I wasn't. When your Dad said, "This is Maya", I grinned because I knew he was smitten. Your mom's voice was as light as homemade biscuits. I was smitten, too. It was easy to see why your Dad was in love.
It's hard to get to know someone at parties. They lack the intimacy that smaller gatherings offer, where there is space for conversation and extended eye contact. But what you can glean is sometimes even more valuable. What made me smile about your Mom was her all-in-ness when it came to a song she liked. She bounced to songs that had a groove, but when a beat really hit, she did her thing. It's a clarity and directness I'd grow to learn as a defining part of her personality. When she knows, she knows and is clear on the importance of giving her take. It's a trait that I admire and actively practice embodying. Friendships are like that. A mirror for what you didn't even realize was possible.
Naturally, once coupled, your folk's love couldn't help but spill over like one of those cute chocolate fountains at weddings and holiday parties. There were adventures, plans for the future, picture mail from Paris, and a little thing called the Meet-Up, which brings people together in celebration of love.
Kind of how children do.
When your Uncle Phil and I got the call you were on the way, it was like someone turned the volume down on the biggest city in North America. The usual bell ringing, shouts of "agua natural," and busy chatter of people going about their day faded to the back, completely drowned out by the enormity of the news. The air hung heavy with pending goodness. The world was about to change.
I tease your Dad sometimes. When he thinks too hard, I remind him he's come a long distance from his NY life. So great a distance, bamboo now grows in his backyard. One of the greatest privileges of friendship is witnessing each other up close and helping to straighten the other's crown. Your parents weren't the ones who planted the cluster, but it mirrors your young family's flexibility, strength, and steadfast reaching toward the sun. I'm so happy you all have each other. I'm grateful Uncle Phil and I were chosen as family, too.
Love always,
Auntie Rae
Thank you Rachel for your friendship, I love you. If you want to find more of Rachel’s writing check out
where she writes about love, travel, and the “aha moments.”
These letters between me and Myles are free to read.
But if you want to support, consider becoming a paid subscriber. All proceeds collected from Raising Myles contributes to his College Plan.
If you can’t commit to a monthly subscription, but still want to support, here is my Buy Me a Coffee page.
Let Rachel know your thoughts:
What are your thoughts on friendship?
What's a treasured memory from high school?
Do you remember the first time meeting a lifelong friend?
What's your hometown? Have you visited recently?
Want more of Myles’ Letters?
Here’s something light - Shirtless Nights
Something medium - Last week you met your Grandfather
Something Heavy - Sons of California and Palestine
Read about Our first Father’s Day.
I’ve teamed up with some great people to host a writing group called
- a weekly virtual writing session for Black, Indigenous, & Writers of Color and writers of the global majority. We write together every Friday at 9:00AM ET. If you’re looking for some community around writing, please tap in.
 | A guest post by
|