SLEEPING FOR REAL

Dear Spike: 

Right around the time we were getting ready to ship you off to bed, you walked into our room dragging a box top, your special green blanket, and a stuffed bear.

You set the box top down, laid down inside of it and pulled your blanket up over your body.

"Um... exactly what are you doing?" I asked.

"Sleeping," you replied. "Shhhhhh."

That wee bit of über-adorableness was all it took to win a pajama party with your mother and father. We slid a disc into the DVD player, hopped into bed and snuggled in. 

Now, you're sleeping for real, taking up more than your fair share of the bed, and I'm trying to keep from falling over the side. 

Maybe I should have just let you sleep in the box.

Love,

dad    

JUST LIKE THAT

Dear Spike:

I was working a late shift in the office, last night, when I got a call from your mother.

"I'm about to put the baby to bed," she said. "Would you like to say goodnight?"

And thus began our very first phone conversation...

"Hi Daddy!"

"Hey baby, how are you doing?"

"Good. What you doing Daddy?"

"I'm working, honey. Are you getting ready for bed?"

"Yes."

"OK, well, have a happy night-night."

"Happy night-night."

"I love you."

"Love you Daddy."

It's a strange thing talking to someone on the phone who, such a short time ago couldn't say a word. It made me realize just how much you've changed in the past year.

These days you speak in (nearly) complete sentences, you tell jokes, you make rhymes, you translate food names and numbers and colors into Mandarin, you sing on key and you spell words like "cat" and "mom" and "pig" and "fun." 

You choose your own clothes, you take yourself to the potty, you say "please" and "thank you" and you're even showing signs of being able to control those terrible twos, before two ever starts. 

Today your babysitter's daughter was sick, so I brought you along to a meeting at a coffee shop near our home. You sat patiently, watching Sesame Street and drawing on my notebooks for a good hour, but after a while you started to get a bit bored, and decided that you were going to start throwing donut crumbs all over. When I stopped you, you cried. But that didn't last long.

"What are you doing right now?"

"Throwing tantrum."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Bad."

"What do you say?"

"Sorry Daddy."

Just like that, it was over. And that's been par for the course, lately.

That's not to say you don't ever test our patience. You've picked most your mother's favorite flowers from the garden before they ever had a chance to fully bloom. You seem to enjoy throwing food on the floor when you're done eating. And sometimes, when you decide that you just don't want to go to sleep, you turn into quite a cranky little gnome.

That's all part of growing up, too. And you're growing up so fast.

Love,

dad

THESE BUSY TIMES

Dear Spike:

Someday, when you’re old enough to read all these letters, you might notice a gap between April 23 and May 6 in which your father didn’t write a single word for you. In the nearly three years I’ve been penning these letters, I’ve never let such a long period go by without so much as a word for posterity.

My devotion to you has not waned in these weeks, nor has your life suffered from a lack of interesting episodes, worthy of documentation and contemplation. This has simply been a busy time for me, a period in which converging deadlines at work and school have left precious little time for other pursuits.

You’ll have these busy times too, one day — times in which you won’t have the time or energy to visit with your dad via whatever communication technology is in vogue at the time.

And I’ll understand. Everything you’re mother and I are doing for you, right now, is designed to prepare you to live a healthy, independent, successful and fulfilling life. In the midst of all that, I’m sure there will be many days — and maybe many weeks — that we will not have the opportunity to communicate. I’ll love you nonetheless.

Then there is that chance — slim, I hope — that I will not be there at all. One day I’ll simply have written my last word for you. You’ll have to take it from there. A gap of two weeks will turn into four. Four will turn to eight. And so on and so on forever. I hope that when that day comes you never feel as though I was too busy for you in the times I could have been.

You’ll  never suffer from a lack of my devotion or interest in your life. But if you ever feel you’re suffering from a lack of attention, you are free to ask for an adjustment to our lives.

For you should never doubt that you are the most important thing in my life. And I will do my vest best never to give you reason to even contemplate it.

Love,

dad

 

ALWAYS WILL BE

Dear Spike:

I still call you my baby. No doubt I always will. But with each passing day, it's getting harder and harder to see you as anything but a little girl.



Some of the benchmarks are obvious:
• Your obsession with the swings at the park. "Not the baby swing, daddy," you tell me. "The big girl swing!"
• The way you contemplate questions and give meaningful answers. "Who is my girl?" I ask. "Mamma is a girl and me is a girl," you say.



But the benchmarks that are most profound are usually the ones that are most unexpected.
• The way you've taken to saying "yeah," and "nope" and "OooooKay!"
• How you sometimes sing yourself to sleep: "Imalida tea pot short and stout, heresmahanda heresma.... zzzzzzzzzzzzz!"



You're getting bigger, and taller, and heavier. Yet when I hold you in my arms, and especially when your head is resting on my shoulder, you're still my baby.



No doubt you always will be.

Love,
dad

HOW IT IS

Dear Spike:

You're just in the next room over, but I miss you.

I guess that's just how it is when you love someone as much as your mother and I love you.

I can't wait for tomorrow.

Love,
dad

IN PROPER ORDER

Dear Spike:

It's taken some time for me to get used to the addition of school work to my already busy routine, but three weeks into this little adventure, I'm feeling good about the decision.

For the most part, I've been able to keep my academic obligations from taking too much time away from you -- which was my chief concern going in. And although I'm a shameless procrastinator, I've been dutifully working and reading ahead, which I'm hoping will translate into more days like the one we've got scheduled today -- a family hike in the mountains near our home.

Although I fully intend to keep my priorities in proper order, like anything else that steals away a part of the day I know there will be times in which this will interfere with our ability to spend time together. Please forgive me. I'm trying to better myself and, in doing so, put myself in a position to better our family.

But if you need me, I promise I'll be here for you.

It's nice to do well in school. But it's better to do well in life.

Love,
dad

REALLY NOTHING CUTER

Dear Spike:

You've escaped your bedroom four times already tonight. I'm beginning to wonder whether it was such a good idea to take apart your crib.

On the other hand, there's really nothing cuter than seeing you try to sneak into our room in your pajamas.

Love,
dad

THE TERRIBLE TWOS

Dear Spike:

Crayon on the dresser. Tantrums on the floor. Your birthday is still two months away, but I fear we're already well into the "terrible twos."

You're starting to make a lot of decisions for yourself — and you just don't like it when we try to make them for you. And so you get defiant. And angry. And ugly.

I understand. I don't like it when people tell me what to do, either. But you're still a small, small girl and the world is a big, big place, so you still need a bit of help. That's what parents are for.

And although I know it would be easiest to just let you get away with your recent spate of naughtiness and to give into your tantrums — "You want a steak knife? Fine! here's a steak knife!" — we just can't do that. That's not what we're here for.

So we'll keep helping you make good decisions, until you make 'em mostly on your own. We've only got one chance to get you right, kid, and by golly we're gonna do it.

Love,
dad

BELIEVE IN LEARNING

Dear Spike:

It's been nearly a year since I decided to take the plunge back into school. Today was the day I actually hit the water.

In deference to my unpredictable work schedule and my often sleepless nights, I've elected to enter an online program at California State University East Bay, which happens to be the same stately institution that your grandmother graduated from when I was a boy. As of midnight, I'm a Pioneer. With any luck, I'll be graduating with a master's degree in education sometime before you start college.

Your mother and I don't see eye-to-eye on everything in this life, but one thing we wholeheartedly agree on is education.

Not as a route to a job. Not as a path to more money. Not as a way to bolster our personal and professional credentials.

We believe in education just for the sake of education.

We believe in the nobility of knowledge and the sanctity of its pursuit. We believe that the very foundations of our society can be found in the relationship between teachers and students. We believe in learning.

And we expect you believe, as well.

That doesn't mean you have to spend your life in school. Although we expect you to go to college — and anticipate that you might stick around for graduate studies — you'll have free agency to make your own decisions about these matters. We will only ask you to recognize and respect the amazingly fortunate lot you've drawn in this life, and to pay heed by striving to learn as much about this world as you can.

In all things, ask questions.

In all things, seek answers.

Share your thoughts and thirst for the thoughts of others.

Explore and experience.

Read and write. Read and write. Read and write some more.

Create. Appreciate. Be.

Learn. It's what this life is for.

Love,
dad

THE NUDIST SCENE

Dear Spike:

It's flippin' freezing outside — and in our big, old drafty home, too — but you've taken a sudden interest in running around the house naked as the day you were born.

"Nuders!" you cry, as you streak through the kitchen. "Nuders!"

Your mother and I — not real big into the nudist scene — weren't really sure where you were getting your fixation on nakedness until she caught you talking to yourself while watching Sesame Street.

"Big Bird is nuders!" you squealed with delight. "Cookie monster is nuders! Grover is nuders! Elmo is nuders!"

Damn Muppets.

Love,
dad