ALL I NEED

Dear Spike:

Lately I've been wandering around this place and wondering just who owns it.

Your mother and I are ones whose names are listed on the mortgage, of course. But as I walk from room to room, I see less and less that belongs to us and more and more that belongs to you.

There's a soccer goal in the dining room. A tricycle in the living room. In the kitchen there's... a kitchen — a plastic replica that took me several hours to piece together (thanks again, mom.) The bath tub is filled with rubber toys. The front porch is home to two strollers (one that goes fast and one that goes really fast.) My office is staffed with your stuffed animals. Your mother's sewing room is littered with dress-up outfits.

Not even our own bedroom is our own bedroom. When I woke up this morning I was spooning a stuffed hippo. And I swear he had this funny little grin on his face.

I'm not complaining. When you're around, this stuff keeps you engaged and entertained. When you're not, it reminds me of you.

But, it's true, you do seem to have accumulated quite a bit of stuff in your two years on this planet. And that gives me a bit of pause because your mother and I aren't exactly "stuff" people. We're not into trinkets or gadgets or glam. We're not big on fancy clothes or expensive furniture.

I'm not too concerned that any of these things will turn you into a material girl, but it's probably worth noting, nonetheless: All of this stuff is nice, but none of it will make you happy.

For that you need freedom and enlightenment and music and love. For that you need fresh air and beautiful sunsets. For that you need quiet moments, a comfortable bed and good friends.

For that, you don't need anything or everything.

You just need you.

That's all I need, too — just you. And you're mother, too.

All the rest of this stuff is nice. But it's just stuff.

Love,
dad