I’ve thought a lot about what I would write in this first letter. I say first, because I intend to write to you in the future (later I’ll tell you about good intentions). Every time I start, I come up short, because – despite knowing your dad for almost thirty years, and sharing many adventures – I keep drawing a blank. What can I tell you that you don’t already know, and what others have not already said better? Even though you are little, you alreadyknow what a fun and funny guy he was. You already know how much – how terrifically much – he loved you and your mom. His many, many friends, from all over the world, have said what a privilege it was to know your dad. What more can I add?
I can try to share with you, from time to time, little things that helped endear him to almost everyone he met. When you are older, I’ll tell you about the time, long ago, that I knew a woman I was dating (a rare occurrence in itself) was not going to work out about because, on first meeting him, she took a dislike to your dad. How could anyone *not* like him?
I’ll tell you about things that we did in college, and about trips to Las Vegas and crazy Rockets fans and watching Sports Night and sitting in parks at night discussing world events and playing silly, childish games even after you and my daughter Kate were born.
I’ll tell you that your father was admired for a myriad of reasons. I’ll tell you how he is missed every day by so many people.
But, right now, I want you to give your mommy a big hug. Mommy hugs are the best. Every day, be sure to hug your mommy and tell her you love her. She knows you do, but saying it makes it even nicer. Be sure to play lots with your Grandad Arnie and your Aunt Jessica and all your other relatives.
I had a lot of fun with your dad, and I look forward to having a lot more fun with you.