15 years, 11 months.
Dear Jack,
Exactly one month from today will be your 16th birthday! Coincentally, I was able to get a candid view of you working on the electric car for your class at school.
Your teacher referred to you as the “grease monkey” of the class. Based on this photo, I can definitely see why!
Love,
Daddy
10 years, 5 months.
Dear Holly,
You came home from school today so eager to show me something…
It was your report card for your first semester of 5th grade:
All A’s!
You are one smart girl. I know for a fact that by the time I got to 5th grade, I had some B’s slipping in there.
Not you, though! Starting off 5th grade so strong. I am so proud of you!
Love,
Daddy
15 years, 10 months.
Dear Jack,
As Homecoming Week comes to an end, I can say for sure you’ve had a lot of fun this entire time.
You have enjoyed getting to dress all silly each day for school, with a different theme each day.
And you even got to throw candy while riding on a float in the Homecoming parade.
As I type this, you are out at the Homecoming football game having fun with your friends.
It makes me so happy as your dad to see you having a good time enjoying being young!
Love,
Daddy
10 years, 5 months.
Dear Holly,
What does Homecoming Week mean to you? It means… the Book Fair!
And what does that mean? Between Mommy, Nonna, and Aunt Dana all volunteering to help run the Book Fair, it becomes like a mini-Christmas for you.
You truly love books. These ought to keep you busy for a while!
Love,
Daddy
Exactly 20 years ago at this moment, I know where I was and what I was doing. On a random Thursday night when The Office was just going to be a rerun anyway, I was casually showing up to a taping of CMT’s Crossroads at The Factory in Franklin, Tennessee because they needed extras in the audience. My inspiration was simply to see Lindsey Buckingham of Fleetwood Mac perform in a free concert.
As soon as I showed up, amongst the hundreds of others of extras who responded to the mass email invite, from hundreds of feet away I noticed someone who I perceived as a very pretty Puerto Rican girl. She seemed like she would be fun to be around.
I have no idea what likely silly thing I said to her to get her attention, but it worked. We talked the entire time and everything else around us just faded away into a blurry background.
But I do remember having a feeling that there was a decent chance my life would never be the same.
Twenty years later, to this very day, I was right.
And to quote one of my favorite songs by Fleetwood Mac, I would now say to that same girl, who turns out to not actually be Puerto Rican:
“You make loving fun.”
