Dear Michael,

You terrify me. Don’t know who else to put it, don’t know how else I can say it. Let me tell you a brief little story:

As you know, or might remember, I used to smoke. Not a lot, half a pack a day. Terrible habit, the kind that will kill you. And don’t tell me vaping is smoking because it isn’t. it doesn’t compare. When you smoke you literally feel something in your lungs stopping you from getting enough air. But I loved it, it made me cool, it was romantic: I was killing myself slowly. This is the sort of stupid thing, as a teenager, right about your age, I used to think. Anyway, when I started dating your mother, she said the cigarettes bothered her. So I quit, instantly, I was in love, this was the woman of dreams. Fast forward seven years, we felt very pressured to get married and well, I wasn’t making much money and somehow I had to make it, and I started smoking again. Irony right? Can’t afford to get married but you can afford some cancer-sticks. Anyway. Fast forward a year, Mommy was preggers and we found out it was a girl. I insta-quit. No question. Got myself some Nicorette and chewed away. Now the time in between her and you, I wont get into, but it was rough, but I was smokeless nonetheless.

Until we found out our next child, you, was going to be a boy and yes, right away, I went to the 7/11 and picked up a pack. You see, before I even knew you, I was afraid of you. What kind of father was I going to be not having grown up with one? The only father figures I knew in my early years were uncles that had little time for me and even less pity. The father I did know, well, you’ve heard the stories. I never learned how to play catch, I could barely dribble a basketball. The things I was good at was football which, when you think about it, was easy: grab the ball with two hands and plow through anyone that got in your way. I was already husky by the time I was 5. And handball, which was basically slapping a small ball and making other people run around instead. I remember sitting on the porch and thinking to myself, I have nothing to give this kid, this boy, my son. The only thing I knew was violence and disappointment. Of not measuring up to the other boys in the neighborhood with messed up ideas of being macho, being bad ass, being tough.

This is the me you knew when you came into the world, into our world, into my world. A father who didn’t know who to be a man, let alone pass down anything worthwhile to a son. I did not, and still do not, know how to connect. To be frank with you, it might not seem this way, but I have no idea what I’m doing, I only know where I went wrong and how I don’t want you to make the same mistakes. How people hurt me and how I don’t want anyone to hurt you. But you were precious and delightful, stalwart and stubborn. A miracle to a great degree. You were both quiet but would burst on a dime. Much the same way you are today. Like I had said, you’re heart was just too big for your body. Because every day you are more and more like me, in good ways, in better ways, so much so that it’s not like me at all. You’re you, evolving into something greater. Sharp and insightful, cautious but silly. I love everything you are becoming.

Done stop scaring me.

Love, always,
me