Elf

May 14, 2026

Dear Everett,

I slept poorly last night, which leaves me torn about whether to write. On the one hand, I worry I’m not up for it today. But I noticed that when I tried to nap, the idea of this letter started formulating. It gave me a bit of inspiration, but also a bit of energy. Interestingly, this is not the topic I originally intended to cover today, and the idea for this letter didn’t occur to me until shortly before I lay down to nap. I suspect my being both knew I have neither the time nor energy to cover the original topic, but was helpfully able to propose an alternative at just the right time. Here goes.

Everett, this letter is primarily for and about you. Leland will get his mentions, because big brothers just do, don’t they?

You are not a fan of movies, and never have been. Even at halfway through your ninth year, you have a visceral distrust for movies. Your brother was originally far more scared of movies than I anticipated, so at first I assumed your fears just mimicked his. But your brother willingly watched the original Star Wars trilogy with me when he was five years old, whereas you absolutely panicked when we tried to watch with you at the same age. Ever since you’ve been far more afraid movies than Leland was at the same age.

I’ve never fully understood, nor learned to predict, what upsets you when watching a movie. At first I assumed it was violence. But you got scared (or at least upset) watching the early portions of kids’ movies, so that clearly wasn’t it. Sometimes it didn’t even seem as if anything in particular was happening in the scene; were you responding to drama in the music? I honestly don’t know. My best guess is (and, truly, this is just a guess) is that you empathize deeply with the characters in a show, and are deeply worried that you won’t be able to handle the big emotions that watching a movie will stir in you.

This creates something of a challenge in the family, because your brother particularly enjoys watching movies, to the degree where I find watching movies with him to be something of a bonding experience. Leland is a much more sophisticated movie consumer than I was at his age. After watching a handful of early Marvel (superhero) movies, he observed that the villain always seemed to be one of the hero’s friends at the beginning of the movie; this was a pattern I had not noticed, but on reflection was clearly a pattern in the movies we had watched. Another keen observation he made: that the musical soundtracks of movies often set the emotional tone for the scenes we watch in ways we otherwise might miss. [I once made this same observation, but at a much later age. I’ll never forget this: on rewatching Jurassic Park, near the end the main characters are all attempting to evade the velociraptors when the T Rex suddenly appears and eats one of the raptor pack. At this point there are still multiple velociraptors and a T Rex in an enclosed space with our protagonists, and all of these dinosaurs have shown their interest in eating these humans. I recognized that my instinct was to remain alert to the threat that the remaining dinosaurs might turn their attention to eating our beloved characters. At this point, the main theme of John Williams’ score kicks in, subtly and tacitly alerting us that the danger has passed. Subsequently, the velociraptors and T Rex attach each other, allowing our characters the opportunity to permanently escape to safety. It’s a marvelous trick of storytelling, but jarring once you notice it.] My overarching point is just that your brother not only likes watching movies; he seems to have something of a knack for deconstructing and analyzing the art of storytelling, which I find really interesting (perhaps because it’s a gift I do not possess).

One category of movie seems to work for you better than others: slapstick comedies. You seem to have an intuitive understanding that the characters are not getting hurt, and that the physical comedy is not meant to be taken too seriously. In fact, you often get the giggles when watching these types of comedies, and your laugh is infectious enough that it enhances everyone else’s enjoyment. And so, this past Christmas season, when your mom and I were in the mood to watch a movie together, your mom recommended the Will Ferrell movie Elf.

For most of the movie, this worked. You thoroughly enjoyed watching Will Ferrell play an overgrown elf, particularly in the early scenes when he was surrounded by the other (much smaller) elves.

And then.

At the emotional climax of the movie, the actor playing the main character’s father lashes out at the main character. The dad yells at the son. I don’t really recall what he yelled; my rough recollection was that the dad intimated he didn’t genuinely love the son and never would (but I might be wrong).

This scene completely set you off, to the degree I wonder what you will remember from the experience by the time you read this. You began screaming “Turn it off! Turn it off!”. When I didn’t immediately turn it off, you ran over to me and screamed at me from close range “Turn it off!”. I paused the movie, but this wasn’t enough; “I said turn it OFF!” you screamed. You were trying to make it clear that you would not calm down until I turned the movie off. Finally I said “Everett, I’m not going to do that; if your brother wants to finish the movie, he should get to do that. If you don’t want to watch, you and I can go in another room”. And so we did.

We went into my bedroom, partly because it has a chair I find comfortable. I gave you a little time to calm down, and most likely (though I’m not sure: it’s been a few months and my memory only recalls the most salient details) assured you that you were both loved and safe. Once you calmed down a bit, I wanted to understand what had set you off so badly, so that we could try to address it.

I started by asking if it was what the dad said that upset you. This was a bit of a softball question (of course it was what the dad said!) just meant to find some easy common ground and establish some empathy and understanding on my part. I proceeded to ask if you were afraid that your dad (e.g. me) would ever say something like that to you. To my surprise, you said no.

To be clear: my surprise is not some admission of guilt. I don’t feel like I’ve given you reason to feel unloved or unlovable, and I don’t believe I lash out at you often. But, in that moment, that seemed like the most plausible interpretation for why you might have been so upset.

Somewhat surprised, but grasping for other guesses, I asked “are you worried you might yell at someone you love like that someday?” To my surprise, your eyes just got very wide when I asked that question. You looked directly into my eyes and held my stare very carefully. Your eyes conveyed a sense of being completely exposed, feeling totally vulnerable.

I don’t remember exactly what I said. What I remember most of all was holding your gaze carefully the entire time I spoke. You were looking for reassurance as much as you were listening for it. I reminded you that you are a person with big emotions, and I assured you that it’s okay to feel big emotions. I pointed out that we have been working on tools for helping you handle your big emotions (and I give you a ton of credit; in many ways you are more emotionally mature than I was at your age: you know when you are upset, and have reliable tools you often use to process those emotions without taking your anger out on others). I told you that, despite those tools, there would likely be times when you would lash out at the people you loved. I said that lashing out at loved ones might hurt their feelings, but it didn’t make you a bad person; it just made you someone who temporarily couldn’t handle the emotions you were feeling. I said that the goal is to try to learn from those experiences; that we can’t take back how we have hurt other people’s feelings, but we can try to understand why we acted the way we did, and to try to learn from it and fix it so that we wouldn’t do it again.

During my whole monologue you looked more deeply into my eyes that I can recall on any other occasion (honestly, I can’t remember very many times anyone has looked that deeply into my eyes). As I spoke your eyes turned red and glistened. I felt sure, in that moment, that we were speaking to something you held deeply. I felt some level of optimism that we were healing something, or at least exposing you to the possibility of healing.

I found myself shocked (in fact, I remain shocked) by the sense you were holding onto a deep sense of shame about this aspect of yourself. I interpreted that you intuitively understood your capacity to hurt others, and that you didn’t like that about yourself. In retrospect, your attempts to shout the movie off feel like an attempt to shutter that part of yourself away. It never occurred to me an eight year old could feel this type of shame. It sorta makes me reconsider how we learn to hold trauma. I had mostly assumed that trauma was something stored from our own memories. But I sincerely doubt you have any memory of hurting anyone the way you were clearly afraid of hurting someone. Was this an intuitive understanding of the potential to hurt someone? Or were you harboring trauma you absorbed or even inherited. I don’t really know the answer, but find myself open to new possibilities in terms of where our shame and self-loathing originates.

In terms of advice, I hope you remember (even if only subconsciously) how we approached that experience. In terms of how we heal, and especially how we heal those deepest wounds and feelings of shame and unworthiness: we absolutely, positively must start from a position of grace. Too often we start by trying to correct the behavior, or telling each other why and how we are bad. To be clear, this exercise has to start with ownership, and a willingness to accept accountability for any wrong actions. But once someone has demonstrated their willingness to own their actions and, more importantly, their willingness to open themselves up in a place of vulnerability, it’s critical we lead with compassion and grace. Those deepest parts of ourselves need to feel loved, and will only reveal themselves when they learn to trust that they are loved and safe. Those we consider ‘evil’, those who hurt people gratuitously: they are so deeply wounded precisely because they got hurt when opening up those deepest parts of themselves.

When I say we must lead with compassion and grace, I mean self compassion too. We can heal ourselves (I know from experience), but we have to provide ourselves the compassion and grace to open ourselves up. From that place we can let go of the pain, trauma, shame, and self-loathing we carry. As far as I can tell, that process of opening up and letting go is the only sure path to healing. The details can vary: you can do it by yourself or you can be supported by family members, friends, therapists, ministers, coaches…or any number of gentle, trustworthy, compassionate folks. We develop an intuitive sense for which scenarios are safe for opening up, and which are not; it’s important to honor that discernment, because opening ourselves up in an unsafe environment risks creating deep new wounds and delaying the healing process. To some degree, this is what I think Jesus meant when he talked about not throwing pearls before swine: don’t expose the best, most vulnerable parts of yourself to those unworthy or incapable of receiving those gifts.

Once we lead with compassion and grace, I think we give each other the opportunity to let go of those deeply held beliefs and experiences that perpetuate suffering. We let go of the emotional and spiritual trauma, and with it the need to feed that trauma. From there we kick off a process that leads to behavioral change, and we eventually start to witness the different ways we react, with more equanimity and patience and grace to situations we previously would have found triggering and too often resulting in shouting matches (or worse). And from that space, we create more healing opportunities for those around us in the world.

I am pretty convinced that what we experienced that night was pretty beautiful. It’s great if you remember it, but it’s fine if you don’t. Our memories are funny, and I’m coming to believe we remember what we need to remember when we need to remember it. Either way, I’m optimistic we healed (or at the very least opened up the possibility of healing) something in you that night. More importantly, I’m optimistic we imprinted on your consciousness the possibility of healing, increasing the likelihood you will move into adulthood with a head start on how to engage with and move through the healing journey.

I love you more than you will ever know. When you have an outburst, grant yourself some grace. Don’t excuse bad behavior, and do the work to identify and let go of the source of the outburst. But lead with grace and compassion: only from that place will you create the emotional security and spiritual space you need to open up, find the wound that created the behavior, and let it go. I know you can do it, and I’m excited to watch you (whether from this life or the next).

Love,

Dad