We tried so hard to make things better for our kids that we made them worse.  For my grandchildren, I'd like better.

I'd really like for them to know about hand-me down clothes and homemade ice cream and leftover  meatloaf sandwiches.  I really would.

My cherished grandson, I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated. I hope you learn to make your bed and mow the lawn and wash the car. And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen. I hope you have a job by then.

It will be good if at least one time you can see a baby calf born and your old dog put to sleep.

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's all right if you have 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 let him.

When you want to see a Disney movie and your little brother wants to tag along, I hope you'll let him. 

I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely.

On rainy days when you have to catch a ride I hope your driver doesn't have to drop you two blocks  away so you won't be seen riding with someone as uncool as your mom.

If you want a slingshot, I hope your dad teaches you how to make one instead of buying one.

I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and read books.

When you learn to use those newfangled computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head.

I hope you get razzed by your friends when you have your first crush on a girl, and when you talk  back to your mother that you learn what Ivory soap tastes like.

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 cigar smoke in your face.

I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your grandpa and go fishing with your uncle.

May you feel sorrow at a funeral and the joy of holidays.

I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through a neighbor's window and that  she hugs you and kisses you at Christmas time when you give her a plaster of Paris mold of your  hand.

These things I wish for you - tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness.