Child, I have dreamt of you. Precious and vulnerable, dependent on the the nurture of your mother and protection of your father. Your curls of gold and eyes of sky suggest a history which most can only superficially sense, the crisp angles of your foremost features shall one day assume – the blueprints of which are detectable underneath that still and soft countenance – are marks of a noble struggle.
In your veins flows the life force of the true. Those who came before you masterminded the construction of the pyramids, laid down the path of the Silk Roads and defended the home by the means of the Crusades. They were gladiators, Spartans and tradesmen. From the harmony of Pax Romana to the plague of the Middle Ages, they persisted. Michelangelo, Mozart and Shakespeare touched upon the soul of the creator with paint, melody and word respectively.
It was not all greatness and virtue. The Vikings are said to have raped and pillaged, earned their prosperity through cruel might and unbeknownst to them even built on an unknown continent. Where they failed, the Lusitanian, Castillian – and most legendarily – Anglo-Saxon man conquered. The pioneering of the virgin New World, the subjugation of nature by the industrial birth and the destruction of agrarian life to set the stage for the advent of the urban took their toll. In your growth, the sick, weak and inferior which would not compete were pushed back into the womb of the eternal unknown.
Industrious, pure and principled. Yours is the body of fair complexion, the windows to the soul shaded of the sky, foliage or soil. Like the stars in the sky your face may be speckled, your hair may remind of embers, sunshine or even the forest’s mighty trunks. Fierce, assertive and defiant. Your men are willing to lay down their life without complaint when the hour calls, your women at their side to inspire and secure the continuance of the life-cycle.
My love, I will not lie to you. The ever-present enemy now has a stranglehold so tight on our kin the likes of it are unmatched in the books of history. He, our adversary, lacks the honor and skill we know, and instead has elected the poisoning of our minds as the weapons of our warfare. The legionnaires are fewer in number than ever before and while this we could overcome, the trying obstacle is the manpower of our own kind in the opposite court.
Defiled are our women, neutered are our men, and abused are our children.
And yet, I fought desperately to bring you into this world. Overjoyed and humble am I that you are here.
Now, still an infant dependent on your mother’s bosom, there are years of development and training ahead of you. Your father, as I have chosen him, will delight in aiding you in your growth and play out a series of customs and traditions which are the result of reiterative practice since the dawn of time. Yet, the greatest battle of the linking of your genes and the resulting being has already been won. Another victory in the long war.
When you are of age, you too will assume the sword. As certain as I am of your ruddy lips, you are another link in the chain of destiny. I will for now take comfort in the fortune of the present, but know that the charge will always be onward.