I’ve never been a big fan of those letters that people write to their children in their blogs. Sure, I’ve read some that were written very well and weren’t just chock full of schmaltz and Hallmark sentimentality, but most of the time I don’t find them all that interesting. They just seem like a boring ass literary device. A B.A.L.D. if you will. Having said that, I’ve an occasion to attempt to employ this very B.A.L.D. and write just such a letter today.
This thing you’re reading is called a blog, which is short for weblog. People used to keep blogs to write about any number of subjects. There were movie blogs, TV blogs, technology blogs, political blogs, music blogs, science fiction blogs, sports blogs, dog blogs, cat blogs, reptile blogs, ferret blogs, celebrity blogs, blogs about blogging...you name it, somebody was blogging about it.
As you can see, the blog before you is not nearly so topic oriented. You see, a lot of people like your good old dad kept blogs to write about pretty much whatever the hell. Their lives. Their families. Random thoughts. Stuuuuuuuff.
I doubt that many people are writing them in the future when you’ll be reading this, hence all the explanation. If they are, well, never mind.
I’m writing this on January 10th, 2010. I can hear you and your brother in the other room playing with your trains, and for the moment, you’re not trying to beat the snot out of one another. Give it another minute and you probably will be. You are our New Year’s Eve baby, so your second birthday was just a week and half ago. I gotta tell ya, that was some nice work on your part coming in under the wire and scoring that 2007 tax credit for your mom and I. Very smooth. Sadly though, your birthday ends up being just a wee bit overshadowed by all the end of year festivities that fall under the banner of “The Holidays.” For example, here it is the second week of January, and I’m just now getting around to jotting something down in this here blog (see definition above) to commemorate the fact that you’re now two years old, that it’s becoming more obvious every day that you’re not really a baby anymore, that it’s been two years since we brought that 9 pound 11 ounce bundle home from the midwife’s to that tiny little house that we were renting. You may have noticed already, depending on what order you’re reading this, but if you go back into the archives of the previous October, you’ll see that I managed to throw up a quick something for your brother’s fourth birthday.
Which is why I’m writing you this letter. I have no idea if you and/or your brother will ever feel the need to sift through your old man’s writings that he tossed up on the internet. Maybe I’m dead and you’re missing me, and reading this is a way to feel close to me again. Maybe you’re curious what kind of guy your dad was outside of just being Dad. Whatever the reason, should you ever find your way into these pages, don’t interpret anything you find or don’t find here to mean that we cherish one of you more than the other. This little weblog is kept up sporadically at best. I’m gonna miss stuff, that’s just how it goes. And even if you don’t remember it now, trust me when I say we had a party for your birthday and it was awesome. There was a cake with Lightning McQueen and Tow Mater on it. And pizza. And chips. And salsa. Oh, and that spinach dip from HEB that must have crack in it because you can’t stop eating it. Like I said, awesome.
Beyond that son, the fact is that your Mom and I haven’t yet decided on which of you is our favorite kid. You’re both pretty great in some ways, and big pains in the ass in other ways. But that’s okay. Should we ever make a decision, we’ll let you guys know.
Happy late birthday blog post, Simie.