Seventeen

Today, Max Benjamin, you are turning seventeen. 

I always read last year’s letter before I start writing the current version to see what has changed, and I have to admit, it’s not a lot. But we talk about this often - there are many parts of you that have always just been there, fully formed. My old boss used to compliment people by saying they were fully formed, so you should see it that way too. You are a fascinating combination of motivation and ease, the latter of which I could use more of myself. 

Your life is almost all about music now. It’s unusual for you not to have a guitar in your hands, unless it’s because you’re playing the bass, drums, piano, or saxophone. You got in to the Jazz combo and big band at South, plus became a Teen Leader and are in Chamber Choir for HaZamir, and got accepted to Senior Districts for the Massachusetts Music Educators Association (and all of these things were what you were thankful for on Thanksgiving). You’re writing and arranging music too, plus playing in public with the trio all over Newton, and working with the music program at our religious school and playing with the teen band, and helping out at the Highlands Conservatory (you’ve also learned that earning money is fun!). You figured out that Canada isn’t for you at a Jazz camp there. And most importantly, you had your long-anticipated Kerem summer at camp, where you all won Zimriyah for the third consecutive time. These short long lives. 

You’ve become a vegetarian, been at it for almost a year now, and I’m eating less meat too since you tend to eat my leftovers. You become a leader in all that you do, not by force but by building consensus and genuinely caring about the people around you. You just got to spend some solo time in NYC with Hannah, who is still your best friend and favorite person to talk with. And Shira is still the greatest thing to ever happen to us, even if she resents us for making her dance to the opening credits of “Loot.”

This next year is a big one. You’ll get your driver’s license, spend the summer at Berklee, and by this time next year, maybe know where you’ll be for the next four. Hopefully it’s not too far away, so I can keep taking pictures of you and your guitar. I’m proud of you always - thank you for letting me be your mom. Happy birthday, buddy. I love you.

(You can also see letters for ages three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and sixteen.)