Dear Spike:
You laugh like a maniac. Like a mad viking sailing over the the end of the world. Like a mathematician who has woken up from a strange and colorful dream — only to find pi solved on a crumpled up napkin by her bedside.
It's frightening. And oh so beautiful.
Never stop laughing like that, OK? Whatever it is that you see in this world. Whatever it is that inspires that cackle, that guffaw, that whoop, that hoot. Whatever you feel, deep down inside when you're suddenly overwhelmed by that great and joyful noise.
Don't ever lose that.
I'm just guessing here — being long of this world, I suppose it's just hard for me to understand — but I think what I'm seeing is the hysterical manifestation of epiphany. You're at this beautiful point in your life in which you've begun to recognize things for what they are and for what you imagine them to be. All at once. You see and smell and taste and touch and develop ideas that belong to no one but yourself. You're creating irony and paradox all of your own making – and only of your own understanding.
Or maybe you're just laughing. What the hell do I know?
No, no — here's what I know: Something is happening in that tiny head of yours. Something miraculous. Something sweet. Something that I'm unlikely to ever understand. Something that, alas, you're unlikely to remember when you are as old as me.
But try. When you're alone, if you must (for yes, it's true, some people will not understand.) Try to laugh as you once did.
Like a frog who has found a princess' kiss. Like a mosquito zipping headlong into a flame. Like a wild beast in defiance of the brightest hunter's moon.
Laugh like a maniac. Laugh.
Love,
dad
