a letter to my son (he’s coming in july)

Dear Elias,

Your mother and I worked on your bedroom this evening. After I finished all that your mom told me to do (don’t worry–she’s only bossy sometimes–you’ll get used to it), I sat down in the brand new rocker and looked around the room and cried.

I’m gonna go ahead and say this now: you’ll probably see me cry a lot. I’m an emotional guy, Elias. Sometimes I’m far too emotional. When you’re able to talk, you can ask my friends about how much I cry. There are far too many stories about me crying at the end of movies. Yes, it’s true, the sad part is that some of those “tear-jerkers” star Jim Carrey or Elijah Wood. And son, if Sally Field is on the television screen, just go and get me box of tissues. I’ll be no good. Sally gets me every time.

Tonight I cried just thinking about you. I’ve got a lot of thoughts running through my brain right now. While I’m honored and excited to get to be your father, I’m also scared to death. I keep thinking to myself, “How in the world am I good enough to raise another human being–I still hate taking the garbage out? And once in a great while, I forget to put on deodorant. How am I good enough to raise a kid?”

Eh, the truth is, Elias, I’m not good enough. As much as you might think you’ve hit the jackpot in fathers, that’s not true. For one thing, I don’t know how to throw a baseball, football, or even a Frisbee. The Frisbees I throw start out looking pretty good, but they end up rolling on the ground like a spare tire, which makes them pretty much impossible to catch. So if you choose to be athletic–not that good Frisbee throwing makes you athletic–you’re on your own, son. Oh, I’ll come to every one of your games or Frisbee-throwing contests and cheer louder than any parent there, just don’t expect me to coach you or be able to give pointers on how to get better. That would be an embarrassment for both of us. But I promise I’ll do my best to be your biggest fan. I’ll make signs and everything! I’m a good sign maker. And your mom scrapbooks, so the signs might even be pretty.

Uh, son, there’s more. I’m also very dramatic sometimes. I guess that’s why God let me become a writer, because I’m really good at taking small hills and turning them into The Alps. Sadly, I can jump to a conclusion–and even respond with a smart-ass comment–quicker than anybody I know (for the record, I won’t be using the word “smartass” around you until you’re a little older. But your mother might. Between you and me, she’s got a little bit of a mouth on her. At times, I think her potty mouth is kind of hot. But that’s probably too much information. I’ll explain that when you’re five, maybe six.) Anyway, there will be times when I respond too quickly and I’ll end up texting you a mean comment that I should never have typed out on my phone. So don’t be afraid to call me out on it. I’m not a big fan of guilt, but gosh, sometimes it really does work on me.

Elias, I promise I’m not trying to scare you or anything, but I’m also not a very good example sometimes. I make mistakes. I fall down, and sometimes I struggle to get back up again. I get depressed sometimes. And I also have a mild case of anxiety from time to time. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: “How in the world did I score this winner?”

It’s true; I’m horrible at sports or anything that requires any athletic ability whatsoever (except volleyball–I’m actually pretty good at volleyball. Did I just write that?) And I am dramatic. And I flub up from time to time.

But Elias, even though I’m scared, I can’t wait to show you around this world. There’s so much to see and hear and feel and do! So many colors to tell you about. So many shapes to explain. And cultures to introduce you to. There’s trees that you can climb. Oceans you can swim in. Concerts you can go to! And beer you can drink (when you’re twenty-one, son–unless your mother let’s us move to Europe someday–then 16!!!) And there’s Star Wars, son! STAR. WARS. Wait until I tell you about “the force”–you’ll love it. Seriously, I think you will. And even if you don’t, I’ll still enjoy telling you all about it.

You’ll soon learn that this world has some scary stuff in it, too. Sometimes you might want to hide or run or give up. That’s happened to me before, too. And I’ll admit; it’s a temptation of mine to shelter you from the scary stuff. But I’m gonna do my best not to do that. Why? Because I don’t want you to fear. I don’t want to use fear as a tactic to manipulate you or keep you from becoming what God has planned for you. We’re gonna focus on hope, Elias! Not fear. There’s always hope, son! Always.

You’ll be here soon. In fact, you’re due in thirty-two days. I could sit here and write forever about how excited I am to meet you. But I’ll stop. My blog readers can only take so much “cheesy uncool posts” from me. But know this: I love you and I can’t wait to hold you and kiss you and take you places. Like the Cheesecake Factory! Mmm. You’ll love it. You also might like the park too.

As you’ll learn, I won’t be a perfect dad, and you probably won’t be a perfect son (even if you do get your mother’s brain, as she’s been praying will happen–you won’t be perfect), but no matter what happens–in good and bad–you and I will always do our best to hope and not fear.

See you soon, buddy.

(One more thing: Can you please stop kicking your mother’s pancreas? I’m tired of hearing her complain about it.)

Love,

Dad

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