Nine years ago, I held a blank journal in my hands and promised the gooey alien freshly spat from wife’s vagina that I would write a letter to him every day. Today the alien can read but fortunately is far more interested in watching Youtube videos of people playing Minecraft narrated by fowl mouthed f-bomb dropping cynics than seeking out my digital drivel. While the dusty journal remains devoid of entries, fear not son, I have left a virtual trail of embarrassing photographs, stories and videos to provide you and your future therapist countless hours of recurring couch sessions. Happy Birthday! You mean the world to me! (and please quit cursing behind our backs)
[Dear reader, They grow up fast. Set the excuses aside and spend time with them lest you role play a Harry Chapin ballad. And the ‘cursing behind our backs’ was a joke.]
