4/26/21

Dear Atlas,

It’s me, your Dad.

This afternoon, I had an interesting thought about you. I was just finishing some work when I glanced at a painting leaning against the wall. It’s one of my recent pieces. I digress.

I thought, I wonder if Atlas will know me.

Not me as your Dad, but the part of me that wrote this letter, the me who existed before diaper changes, parenting, or marriage.

Before I was your Dad, as you know me, I was a young man—just like you. Even now, I don’t consider myself grown up quite yet, and a small part of me hopes I never do.

I want you to know I was a young man, full of potential, energy, and personality. I have traveled all over the world, seen my share of exotic cultures, and dove headfirst into a plethora of experiences most people will never even dream about.

I have made huge mistakes, hurting others because I gave them what I had rather than what I now know about life.

I have loved. Oh, how I have loved. I’ve lived through my heart for thirty-three wonderful years and developed heartfelt connections with many dear friends throughout the world—because I’ve traveled it.

Atlas, there’s going to be a phase of your life when you weave in and out of acceptance of me as your Dad. Some years will be easier for you, and for me, than others, as growing up takes a team effort.

Everything started to change when I found out you were coming. I knew my life wouldn’t be what it used to be. However, I knew some of those changes were ready to be present in my life. You, especially.

You’ll know me as Dad, Daddy, Papa Bear, or whatever silly name we come up with for me (and you). But that’s not how I see myself now because it isn’t who I am now, Atlas.

Will you know me as I am now? I don’t know. Will you know the young man who loves to ride his motorcycle, listen to Alice Cooper, and toss a beer back with a cigarette? Some of those parts, I hope you never see . . .

Other shades of my life will remain for you to uncover and discover as we bond as Father and Son.

You and I may get into fights and disagreements as time goes by. However, I hope you will always know there was once a “me” whom a guy like you hoped he’d someday be like—and I know the “you” who will one day be that man much better than I ever was.

In some ways, a part of me sees the changing tides of my own character, and I hope you, my son, will someday know me as I am now: a stud riding the loudest motorcycle in Tulum, with a louder (and wilder) heart for the ones he loves.

I love you, Son.

Dad