It's less than 2 months until you're born and already I don't like you. I do not like schlepping boxes around trying to find a place to put all off your support accoutrement... I do not like paint fumes... I do not like sweating in the attic... I do not like sore muscles....
Furthermore, I will not like changing your poopy diapers.... I will not like waking up at ungodly hours to fulfill your nutritional demands... I will not enjoy trying to figure out what you are screaming for this time... I will not enjoy telling you to not pull the dogs' ears off ... again...
I do not foresee myself able to like being worried about you when you're old enough to go out... I will not like worrying about your school performance... I will not like listening to you honk on an oboe... or bang on a drum... I will not like seeing you take your first steps, and worrying that you might bump your head somewhere...
I'm a firm believer that honesty is the best policy. So, let's start off this father-daughter relationship being totally frank with each other. To tell the truth- I am, at times, terrified at the prospect of there being another human in this world who is my responsibility. Not only do I need to show you all the ropes, I need to do so correctly. Not only will I be teaching you how to read the stars to chart your course, what the natural laws of the sea are, when to follow currents, and when to avoid them, and eventually how to take your own rudder into your own and to choose your own guiding star - I first have to do it without steering us onto the rocks.
I won't like that, either....foreals
Your grandfather Rocky (my dad) died one year ago today. That was about five months before we found out we were going to have you. Since that time, I've felt enough sadness about his passing for two people. For me and you. Sadness on my part that I haven't seen my dad or his brilliance in quite sometime now. Sadness for you that you will never get to know him as I knew him: Funny, intelligent, warm, and willing to let me keep the change when I bought myself a 3 Musketeers Bar on his nickel.
My father was not without his faults. If I were to sit down and list every possible negative thing about my dad, we would be here for minutes.
If I were to list his positives, we'd be here for days.
I'm sure, looking back up to the top of this post at the list of mundane chores, my father didn't like these things either. I should say, he didn't merely like them. He didn't merely like these chores because he didn't merely like me. He didn't merely like me enough to make me laugh. He didn't merely like me enough to show me what a split finger fast ball was, he didn't merely like me enough to be patient with my mistakes, he didn't merely like me enough to praise my successes.
Looking back (and now looking back through the filter of impending fatherhood) I'm sure my father, like me, knew the load he was about to take on. I'm sure he felt the pressures that I'm feeling. Pressures that remain part of the gig. I am also quite sure that failure, though ever a possibility, was not an available option for him.
Like father like son....
So, with all that said, we're back to my original (possibly counterintuitive) point: It's less than 2 months until you're born and already I don't like you...I haven't even met you yet, and already I don't merely like you enough to gladly meet any challenges and responsibilities that you might bring. I'd say that's way beyond "like," and something more akin to a labor of love. Hopefully by the time you're able to read this, you'll agree with me.
I can't wait to see you
Love you,
Dad
