Wednesday, May 30, 2012

You'll always be my special big girl

Dearest Ava,
Your little brother arrives on Friday. We've been telling you you'll be a Big Sister for a while, and now that day is almost here. Before your brother arrives, though, I wanted to make sure that you always know how special you are to Daddy.

Someday when you're older and can read this blog, you'll see a lot of posts about how Daddy's life changed so much after you were born. You'll read about changing diapers, about all the pink stuff in our house, how Daddy worries about making sure he does his part to make the world a better place for you and Mommy. Maybe you'll laugh, surely you'll cringe, and you'll definitely probably think Daddy's a silly sap.

But I hope you'll read how I think you are the most amazing thing I've been a part of. I can't even explain to you how much you have changed me -- simply by being born.

I remember when we first brought you home from the hospital and how in awe of you I was. Mommy and I couldn't believe that we had made you, borne out of our love for one another. You would lay there in my arms -- sometimes awake, sometimes asleep -- and I would be hypnotized by you. Every yawn, blink of your eyes, wiggle or snuggle was a revelation. You had me instantly, completely, and forever.

As you grew, it seemed like every day was a new discovery. The first time you grabbed my finger. The first time you smiled at me. The first time you rolled over or held a toy or giggled or blew raspberries at Mommy and Daddy... they were revelations, "firsts" that seemed to happen at a breakneck pace. You were the most amazing, wonderful thing I had ever seen.

When you called me "Dada" for the first time, it melted my heart. When you crawled (and "butt-scooted") I cheered. When you stood up, I watched with equal parts joy and sheer terror. When you walked for the first time, I was so proud (and scared). When you learned to climb the stairs and ride your bike, I cheered again.

Now you sing and dance and play the piano and draw and run and laugh and make up stories... and so many other things. You're so smart and beautiful and funny and silly. I can't believe we made you.

It will probably be hard for you sometimes to be a Big Sister, knowing how long you got to be the only one. You'll have to share toys, attention, food, all sorts of things that used to be "just yours." You'll be mad, and maybe sad, and probably wonder if all the things that used to be just for you are now changed or gone.

They're not. You'll always have special Mommy-Daddy Hugs and Mommy-Daddy Kisses. You'll always have dance parties with Daddy. You'll always have bedtime stories and "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."

You'll always be my special big girl. And you'll always hear me say "Daddy loves you."

Love,
Daddy

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

My only prayer is, if I can’t be there/ Lord, protect my child

I've been reading about the new documentary film "Bully" a lot recently. And I've been wondering how a filmmaker could shoot a film like this -- which follows three kids being bullied and two sets of parents whose children committed suicide because of bullying -- without intervening.

Even though I've only been a parent for a short time, I've learned that standing idly by is not a luxury a parent has. Whether it's hovering anxiously while your child takes her first tentative steps or staying that extra second (or 20) in her day care room at dropoff to make sure she's happy, the idea that your child is unhappy or could be hurt (emotionally or physically) is unbearable. You just can't watch.

Now this is not -- in any way -- an indictment of the film's director, Lee Hirsch; on the contrary, his shining a light on bullying is incredibly important. In Massachusetts alone we've seen the positive impact of the Pheobe Prince and Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover bullying tragedies, both which spurred schools and lawmakers to take decisive action to end bullying. The "It Gets Better" campaign has been revelatory to many, exposing the harsh truth that -- pop culture notwithstanding -- being gay or "different" as a teen is a lonely and harsh existence for too many of our children. Hirsch's film and the "It Gets Better" campaign will hopefully be important building blocks in the effort to stop bullying in our schools and, maybe, our society.

What "Bully" has done is make me think of what would happen if that were my child. And they were different.

I'm hopeful for so many things for my daughter and my son-to-come (due in June). I want them to be happy. I want them to love and be loved. I want them to be healthy, to laugh, to sing, to dream... to be whatever they want to be.

Maybe they'll be scholars. Or singers. Or athletes.

Or maybe they'll be different. Maybe they like art and they're classmates prefer sports. Maybe they'll love books while others prefer video games. Maybe they'll be short and others tall, fat while others are thin, brunette while others are blonde. Or maybe they'll be gay.

Whatever they are or want to be, it will probably be different from their friends, classmates, neighbors, whatever. When I was a kid, I loved singing and acting whilst almost all the kids in my neighborhood were jocks (including my brothers). I wasn't fast or strong or, really, at all athletic. Sometimes, it didn't matter; but sometimes, it was everything.

For example, when I was in sixth grade, I was still singing soprano in the school chorus; I would have liked to played baseball for the school, but I wasn't good enough (I tried out). Yes, I was teased, even by girls. Not bullied like Pheobe, Carl Joseph or the kids in "Bully" -- not even close -- but I was made to feel different. I was lucky; my "being different" came down to something pretty mild compared to the pain and suffering of others. But that difference was, to my pre-teen self, everything to me. And it hurt. 

Eventually, I discovered that who I was and what I liked made me different, yes, but also made me unique and special. That made me feel good. It gave me confidence.. That confidence -- reinforced and nurtured by my parents, my brothers, my friends and teachers -- was what I needed to grow and become who I am today.

Someday, my daughter and my son may wake up and find out that they like (or are) something different from their friends and classmates. It might be a something small -- liking a different band or type of clothes -- or it might be something big -- being smart or short or gay -- that could make them a target for their peers.

I hope that they don't get bullied.

I hope that they can accept and celebrate their difference.


And that when I'm not there to protect them that they I have done everything I can to give them the confidence to be who they are. Being different is not bad -- it's what makes us great.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

When she wraps her hand around my finger, it puts a smile in my heart

It's been a while since I had any new programming on this channel, so here's something I think about a lot...

Things you do that make me laugh:
- Your "magic trick"
- Nak-ey Bab-ey!
- Dance parties
- Surfing
- The toothbrush dance
- Bibi taste testing
- Changing Lulu's "stinky poop"
- Trampoline time

Things you do that make me smile:
- Singing along in the car
- Mommy-Daddy hugs
- Dress up
- "Reading" your books aloud
- Screaming "Daddy!" when I come home from work
- Correct me every time I call you "Baby" by saying "I'm not a baby... I'm a big girl!"
- Holding my hand when we walk

Things you do that make me happy:
- Everything

I love you, Baby Girl!