Whistling

I can’t whistle.

Hasn’t ever stopped me from trying.

I don’t think it’s something I can do.

I feel that way about a lot of things.

I can’t tight rope.

I can’t sing on key.

I can’t tap dance.

I can’t make shoes.

I can’t carve wood.

I can’t play the bassoon.

And though I haven’t tried to do some of those things,

I sure have tried to whistle.

And yet you don’t seem to mind.

You whistle for me.

I appreciate that.

There are lots of things you can’t do.

You can’t sit in silence.

You can’t make cookies.

You can’t jump rope.

You can’t spin a basketball on your finger.

You can’t write letters.

Or you won’t.

But that’s a different argument.

You can’t beat box.

You can’t color inside the lines.

But that’s okay.

I like that about you.

No one should stay inside the lines.

No one should stop trying to do new things.

And even though I can’t sing on key,

You can.

And even though you can’t make cookies,

I can.

I will never whistle while making cookies, jumping rope, and writing letters,

But I know you’ll be whistling for me.

And when you’re tap dancing in the kitchen

Or carving wood and singing off key,

I will sit in silence and smile,

Just grin as big as I can,

Thankful that even though the list of things we can’t do is long,

The list of things we can do together is growing.

Soon it will be longer than the other list.

And maybe someday I’ll be able to whistle.