3/9/21

Dear Atlas,

It’s me, your Dad.

There’s something special about your letter this morning. I’m writing it while listening to some music my Dad loved (Steve Taylor, Liver, track 7 . . . if you’re ever curious), and it feels like time has stopped as our generations are connecting to each other.

My Dad taught me a lot of lessons, Atlas. Some lessons he taught by example; other times, he taught with his words, choices, or discipline. I hated being on the receiving end of the last one.

Expecting you, I think a lot about the way you and I will develop our relationship. I’m a bit beyond the opinion that it’s my sole job to teach you the ways of the world. Rather, I think it’s my job to do that for myself and live an example that would serve you well if you chose to follow it, all of it or in part. You may find even greater benefit for your life by choosing to do some things differently. That’s all up to you.

My favorite moments with my own Dad were the times he chose to spend only with me. I felt like I was on the receiving end of his full attention, and it felt cool to do things with a man I looked up to, who towered like a giant over many other adults.

The biggest man in the room was my own Dad. I loved that. You might like it, too. I hope you do. And I don’t mean you’ll love seeing me be the biggest human in the room, but the one who appears most alive, authentic, and honest to you—my Son.

One of my lessons in life came from trying to be this version to others, before choosing to be it myself—to myself.

That’s one of those lessons you don’t really learn until you learn it. It took me thirty-three years, and I’m still discovering the need to accept myself fully and to be good to myself.

Already, you’ve taught me a lot, Son. I want you to know that. I hope the lessons never stop coming from you, too.

Life will be a lot better with you in it, Atlas. My life. Her life. Our life. Your life. Us.

Keep growing strong. You’ll come when you’re ready.

Love,

Dad