Dear J,

I’m glad you encouraged me to get into a habit of writing to you. It forces me to slow down and take some time to reflect on my day or week. I admit, I don’t always feel in the mood and my mind wanders to other things I want to do, but this helps me get centered and stay grounded.

As you can see in the video above, you’re becoming a fireball. A tiring tornado to keep up with. And as Abu Vicky warned, you’re getting more reckless with less regard for your own safety. That wasn’t me bouncing you on the ball. That was you throwing yourself up and down – I was just making sure you didn’t fly away and land on your head.

You’re starting to sing better now – in the last few days alone, I’ve noticed significant improvement in your pitch. For example, you sang “Twinkle twinkle little star” to Abu Vicky over the phone the other day. You had the cadence and you varied your pitch with the song. Still not quite hitting the right notes, but you’re getting closer.

You’re substituting words too. “Mary had a little lamb” became “Joshua has a Choo Choo Train”, and just like that, you’re starting to make up songs based on songs you know. Like “Little Bus Little Bus what do you see? I see Joshua looking at me!” I don’t even know where that came from, but I’m thinking a song about a boy, a girl and a bird in a tree.

We went to the Oakland Zoo the other day. It was your first adventure seeing them live, rather than as pictures in books. You were fascinated and wanted to spend all day at each animal’s enclosure, because you didn’t yet understand that there were many animals at the zoo.

You liked seeing the elephant drink (you later discovered a new joy in drinking water), and you kept cheering the otters to play for you. You also rode a train, and a Tiger on a carousel — twice — because you persuaded us to buy you another round.

Your mom and I learned that giraffes drink each other’s pee to test for fertility, and when I dunked you in a lily pond and got your foot wet, it was time to go home.

In the evening, you read “Dear Zoo” sitting on your toy train in the living room. At night, you fell asleep clutching “My Farm Friends.” It was a good day.

But you know, two weeks ago, your mom and I had a fight about nothing. You didn’t want to eat, and you were crying to get us to give you what you wanted. I refused, but your mom wanted to give in. She didn’t know what to do and she didn’t want to see you cry. She felt helpless. She cried, and I did nothing to comfort her – I was angry and childish.

You kept asking, “Mama?”, concerned. Mama couldn’t explain because she was crying. I stopped doing the dishes and went to lure you to read in the living room. Mama went upstairs. Eventually, I tried again to get you to eat because you were hungry. You ate after peer pressure from your books and stuffed toys. Then mama came down and snatched you up for bedtime and bathtime. You went to sleep without me, and I was distracted the rest of the night.

I have no excuses. This is true though, “A man is already halfway in love with any woman who listens to him.” And God knows I may not always be sane.

There are two kinds of people and things in your life: those that give you energy, and those that take away your energy:

You must remove from your life everything that leeches from you. Kick the distractions. Drop the anchors. Evict “friends” who project their fears onto you. Uproot and destroy the weeds strangling your dreams.

And you must take care of the those that give you energy. They’re your healthy soil, sun and water your roots need. You, your mom and your sister are mine. Take care of the people who feed you with nourishment. If your mind and heart aren’t at peace, or if you lose the meaning in what you do, you are a ship without a sail bullied by waves.

Viktor Frankl, a psychiatrist, neurologist and Nazi concentration camp survivor concluded that the difference between those who lived and those who died at the camps came down to one thing: Meaning…

This uniqueness and singleness which distinguishes each individual and gives a meaning to his existence has a bearing on creative work as much as it does on human love. When the impossibility of replacing a person is realized, it allows the responsibility which a man has for his existence and its continuance to appear in all its magnitude. A man who becomes conscious of the responsibility he bears toward a human being who affectionately waits for him, or to an unfinished work, will never be able to throw away his life. He knows the “why” for his existence, and will be able to bear almost any “how.”
…
Again and again, one is commanded and ordered to ‘be happy.’ But happiness cannot be pursued; it must ensue. One must have a reason to ‘be happy.'”

Take care of yourself. Take care of those who take care of you. And take care of those who give you a reason to be happy.

Want to know what makes me happy these days? They are little things. Here are some I remember from the last few weeks…

You’ve started to ask to pat you on your back to help you sleep, “Daddy pat Joshua?”, while pointing at your back. Then you ask “Daddy sing Close Your Eyes Go to Sleep?” I made that up because I didn’t know the words to Brahms’ Lullaby. The song stuck and it’s your favorite bedtime song now.

To help you go to sleep, I tried to get you involved in the routine by including your bedtime friends. But the plan backfired:
“Joshua pat bunny?”
“Daddy pat bunny?”, you replied.
“Joshua pat bunny?”
“Daddy pat?”
“Daddy pat?”
“Daddy pat?”, you insisted.
Okay… daddy pat.
“Daddy pat Giraffe?” … “Daddy pat Doggie? Bear? Other giraffe? Elmo? …”
Bedtime took 5 times longer and I learned my lesson.

Your imagination is blossoming. You sat in a box and said you were in a train. Then you shouted CHOO CHOO and asked me to sit with you in the other “train”.

I was working the other day when a car alarm went off. Other people stood up, complained, chatted, and laughed. A few minutes later I caught myself getting annoyed at the distracting conversations the people around me were having. Then I noticed that the alarm was still blaring. Funny thing about having a baby is like having Green Beret conditioning for withstanding loud noises. But I still appreciate good music. Like all good songs, this one comes with a story (which is unfortunately tragic):

The other night, I was playing “Wonderful Tonight” on the guitar and cheesing it up with mama when you came over asking to let you play too. Then you wanted to climb into the guitar case. Then you wanted to sit on it. Then you found my box of Goldfish, which you desperately tried to break into. I didn’t want you to have it because it was junk food. At first you were sneaky – you asked if you can see it, then if you can open it “for daddy”.

As I sang and played the guitar, you kept asking me if you could have one piece, so I sang a song for you (to the tune of Wonderful Tonight):
“It’s late in the evening… you’re asking where Goldfish is.
It fell under the bed… I help you take it out.
And then you ask me… Can I have one piece?
And I say Yes – you can have one piece tonight.”

You heard nothing in that song except the word you wanted: “Yes”. Your eyes exploded into rainbows and you screamed, “YES?! YES???! YES!????” Your mom and I laughed and I caved.

You’re also a showoff now. Just a few weeks ago, you started looking at us after conquering any challenge and asking, “MAMA SEE IT? DADDY SEE IT?” Then you do the river dance when you’re happy.

Puffins Multi-grain is your favorite cereal. You call it Penguin because there’s one on the box.

Love,

Dad

P.S., Earlier, you asked me to hold your hand to help you sleep. I lied beside you in the dark as usual, with your Fishy nightlight illuminating the ceiling like the Bat signal. You rested your head and held my thumb until it got sweaty. Then your grip relaxed, and as you slipped into dreamland, I sneaked Bunny into your hand like Indiana Jones in the Temple of Doom. I had my getaway, but I stayed to watch you breathe. So peaceful.