Today, Max Benjamin, you are turning sixteen.
And I have to admit, I'm a little ashamed that I went a solid year without posting anything else on my blog since your last birthday letter. Especially because it's you who tells me to write again more than anyone else. You see everything in life through a story-telling lens, and it makes you an empathetic teacher. But anyway, here we are (and yes, I know how much you disliked that show).
Your busy-ness clearly rivals your sister's, with the last months requiring an almost daily activity to be driven to: guitar lessons, Teen Beit Midrash, mock trial, extra jazz classes, Tizmoret, Kol Keff, HaZamir, Student Senate, the environmental club, and the latest edition, The Evergreen Trio. You played in the pit for "9 to 5," helped lead Maalot to win Zimriyah, and had your throne challenged in "Pippin." You sat through driver's ed and can't wait to get your license. You regularly play piano and drums in addition to the constant guitar. You've become the best songwriter in the family (apologies to my Dad, but it's true).
Thursdays are for burritos but you also cooked a vegan Shabbat dinner for your friends, and your consumption of Vitaminwater Zero XXX has outpaced soy milk. Your hair is the shortest it's been in a very long time, but it's amazing how great you look with it at any length. You think a lot about the future, probably more than most people your age, but it's because you can't wait for it to arrive. And you know Hannah will be right by your side for it, and Shira will think you just live in your room (so confuzzelating).
I am endlessly proud of you. Thank you for always wanting to talk more, for watching Saturday Night Live, and for occasionally still holding my hand. Happy birthday, bud. I love you.
(You can also see letters for ages three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen and fifteen.)
