The Luckiest

Hey.

So, I've been very lucky. I wanted to tell you all that. Not that I haven't worked hard and earned things, but I must say, as far as things that are "out of my hands," I've done pretty good.

Especially recently.

For instance, I was going to write a big ol' fat blog about today's court appearance. I contested a speeding ticket I received last September, and today was the scheduled court date.

I was going to write about my massive amount of research...I was going to attach a transcript of the court proceedings...I was going to link to the technical document and laws that I used to contest the ticket. I was going to expose my success or failure, for the world to see and learn from.

So, at court today, I arrived with two notebooks full of laws, cross examination questions, technical manuals, legal motions, appellate court case rulings, and medical documents. I was ready to battle my ass off, for the sake of "lulz," entertainment, and education (now that it's over I can say with confidence that I was totally going 56 MPH in a 40 MPH zone -- so this had nothing to do with "justice").

What happened?

The officer never showed up. Case dismissed. Bam.

I win.

I'd worked my ass off for dozens of hours on a case that never actually went to trial.

Cool.

Another example of luck. A couple of weeks ago, one of my coworkers came to me and asked if I'd filled out my NCAA Bracket. The building I work in does a yearly "March Madness" competition, with prizes for the top 5 finishers (there were 64 entries this year...ironically enough). I hadn't watched a lick of college basketball all season, but I decided to just take 5 minutes and throw a bracket down...using the "Tyler Method," which picks a couple of upsets at random, favors programs that I recognized as being "good" at one time, and ultimately selects the "favorite" to win it all.

What happened?

I finished in 2nd place, and got a $100 gift card. Here's my bracket: http://games.espn.go.com/tournament-challenge-bracket/en/entry?entryID=5495201 I picked Kentucky because they were the favorites, and Kansas because they were good when I paid attention to college basketball, and I didn't want to have all #1 seeds in the final 4.

Nice.

Another example -- I got sick in 2012. If I'd had these symptoms three years ago, I would have had no health insurance, and it would have been miserable. Every trip to the doctor's office would have been horribly expensive, and (now that I've racked up nearly a dozen office visits without a definite diagnosis) totally unproductive and wasteful.

I can just imagine myself...driving my wife crazy...thinking that I'm going to die because I couldn't afford preventative, diagnostic care. It would have been an awful, helpless feeling that I'm sure millions of people around the United States (I was going to say "world," but that wouldn't have been true, would it?) feel.

Luckily, I have a good job, which affords me the opportunity to receive good insurance. Consequently, I'm very lucky that this happened when it did, though it was completely out of my hands...

Which is another example. I lucked into this job...which is a tremendous job that I'd really like to keep for as long as possible. Don't get me wrong -- I was qualified for this job, and I worked my butt off to go from "temp" to "permanent employee," but landing this thing in the first place was pure, unadulterated luck. I could have wound up at an office with a terrible, overbearing boss...or surrounded by jag-offs. But I really like and respect my bosses, as well as the folks I work with. It was totally out of my hands...but I'm so grateful I wound up here.

Then, there's my boy. I've already covered the "health insurance" thing, which was another fortunate aspect of Henry's arrival...but there's more than that. There is so much that can go wrong while the child's in utero. There are so many little genes and alleles and hormones that can go haywire, and create medical problems that are out of a parent's hands. And after the child is born there are things like Croup or Colic or Whooping Cough or SIDS that are sometimes impossible to avoid.

But we dodged those bullets. I have friends that did not. I did nothing to deserve this healthy little boy that I have, but I am eternally grateful for it.

Lastly, there's my wife. I don't like getting too mushy about this stuff, because no one wants to read about how much someone loves their wife...but just to let you in on a little secret -- I do. I really really do love this woman so all-consumingly that it's really had to put into words sometimes. I wind up using really descriptive words, like "really" when I have to explain it...which makes me feel really incapable of writing good. She makes me tongue-tied, but with my fingers. Finger-tied.

But with Erika, I have to say, that I did not earn her affection; not consciously, at least. I've been infatuated with plenty of girls before Erika, convinced that they were "perfect for me," but none of them felt the same way about me...and the ones that did weren't really that "perfect for me" after all.

I got really lucky to find someone that just complements me so well, and even more lucky that she felt the same way about me. Plus, she's really pretty...which is hard to imagine for a dude that looks the way I do. It was the ultimate "luck-out."

Our first wedding dance was to the Ben Folds song "The Luckiest." Turns out, it's totally true.

I hope you understand -- I'm not saying these things to brag. I try not to brag in this humble little blog space, though if I do manage an accomplishment I'll give it an ol' mention here (I've been racking my brain, trying to figure out a humble way to boast of my NCAA bracket accomplishment, for instance...and this is how I decided to bring it up).

What I'm saying is, I've been incredibly lucky. It could have just as easily gone the other way for me, then I would have been able to claim that I've been incredibly unlucky. But I haven't been unlucky, and I'm very grateful for that.

A Letter to my Child

I think about death a lot.

Sorry. That was a bit blunt. You may have started reading thinking you were going to see a sweet, father-to-child letter that would bring some "aww's." Don't worry -- I might get there eventually. But I thought I should give some kind of rationale, while I'm thinking of it.

I'd say that's my #1 fear in life -- death. I always considered it a pretty rational fear, really. "Thanatophobia." Which is, apparently, a real thing.

But be not a-fear'd -- to the best of my knowledge I'm not dying, or in danger of dying any time soon. I'm a relatively healthy 31 year old male, with a proud family history of "longevity," to go along with a relatively healthy lifestyle.

However, I'm still preoccupied with my early demise. I ride my bike to work, often...and (don't tell Erika this, but) there are some times when I have a premonition the night before that I'm going to get into a horrible accident on my way in to work.

Of course, all thoughts of the premonition vanish when I'm on the road...and so far, my "future telling skills" are historically lousy. I've started to use it to the effect that I'll wish bad things upon people just so it won't happen to them.

But because of this, and because my wife is now about 10 weeks pregnant, my thanatophobia has been thrown into hyper-drive. Now I think, what if my kid never gets to meet me?

Macabre, I know. Sorry. Again, this might be me "wishing bad things upon myself" just so they won't happen. Bear with me.

Anyhow, to allay this fear...I thought I might write a letter to that little alien-looking mini-person...just so he or she could have some kind of idea what I was like, and what I would have been like if I hadn't died heroically, saving the life of dozens of orphans from a warehouse fire (because orphans love warehouses).

Okay. On with the madness.


Dear Bean,

That's what we called you, early on. The bean. Our little bean. Two little centimeters of human, growing inside of my wife. Or, at least you were the first time I saw you.

It probably doesn't mean much to you now. If you're old enough to be reading this, you're probably old enough to forget about all that crap that happened while you were in the womb. The placenta, the uterine lining, the umbilical cord, the muffled sound of the theme song to the show Top Chef...all a distant memory.

Who am I? Who was I? Well...I'm your father, dammit. Don't you ever forget that. Mom says to eat your vegetables, so do it, dammit. Listen to your mother.

Sorry. Truth?

First, I'll give you some history. To be frank, I had a bit of a different idea in mind when I thought about "me being a father." I thought what I wanted to do was bring a child into a perfect little world, where I owned a home, had no debt, and had enough money to cover a full college tuition to the "Ivy League University of your Choosing." I wanted to be making a bunch of money that I could give you so you wouldn't have to actually hold a job until you graduated college at 23.

But that wasn't reality. I have a hell of a time trying to save money, and I've never really been much for "stability." When I met your mother, I fell madly in love with her, and I believed that I owed it to humanity to bring a copy of her into the world.

Consequently, all my thoughts of this "perfect little world" fantasy met with my new reality. But, I mean, no parent is ever really ready to embark on this "child rearing" adventure, right? So, once the "let's make a baby" idea was proposed to me, I thought, "Yeah. Let's do it. Sounds like fun."

So we made you. You're probably not old enough yet to learn how we did it...but needless to say, it's one of the great perks of trying to have children. The process was, really, much easier than I thought it'd be. Two months of (really) inconsistent attempts and suddenly you blipped into existence. Heck, the ink was barely dry on my health insurance plan...if you'd come two months earlier, you would have been a really terrible financial burden.

Not that that's your fault, or anything. You're just a prune-sized glob of goo. In fact, I hear your baby teeth are just starting to form as I type...so congrats on that. I have grown-up teeth...which makes me better than you. Boom. How does that feel?

Sorry. So, who was your dad? I know, I haven't answered that yet. It's a good question.

Well I tell you, I have one hell of a dad (which means you've got one hell of a granddad). He's a guy that I deified, really...which means, I made him to be "God-like" (sorry, I'm going to use some big words here -- ask you mother what they mean if you're confused). In fact, he's such a great guy that I can't imagine being as great a dad as he was...and I find it hard to believe that one day you could be typing a letter to your unborn child where you're saying that you ever deified me.

Don't get me wrong. It'd be an honor. I'm just saying...it's hard for me to imagine.

Because, who was your dad? Again, I'm failing to answer the question. But, to be honest, it's a hell of a question.

I don't know who I am, really. You little bastard. Geez. Get off my back.

Sorry. I get angry sometimes.

I'm a guy who likes new paragraphs and sentence fragments.

Apparently.

Here's the truth: I'm scared. You're probably scared, too. You're all, "Where the hell am I? Why's it so dark? Why do my fingers have webs?"

Of course, all new dads are scared...I guess that's just part of the experience, right? I'm thinking, "Jesus...I have all this credit card debt. I don't even own a car, or a home. I don't know what I'm going to do for money when my wife is out of work. And I'm supposed to be the provider? Holy crap."

But the reality is, I'm going to do the best I can. You won't know any better -- hell, you probably won't be smarter than me until you're well into your 20s, and I'll have built up enough life experience by that time that I'll seem smarter than you anyway. And you will respect me, dammit. No child of mine is going to go through life not respecting his damn parents.

So, who was your dad? Dammit, that's a stupid question. Who is anyone? I'm just another guy, trying to enjoy himself in this short time that he's schlepping around this rock. I'm not perfect. In fact, I'm probably less perfect than most people. I found my soul mate, and we decided to create you.

We were successful...lucky you.

The better question is, what did I want to be once I found out you existed? Well, here's how I feel now:

I will do everything in my power to make sure you have a great life. I will try my hardest...sacrifice every part of me...do whatever it takes to give you happiness (hee hee...penis), and make sure you stay happy. I might suck at it. You won't know, of course, because kids never know whether or not their parents suck at being parents until they're much older

Regardless, I'll try to be (objectively) the best dad possible. I'm not working with much, frankly. As we speak, I've got about $150.00 to my name. I mean, I've got a good job with health insurance and everything...but things are pretty tight right now. And you're due to pop into the world in about 6 months. Yikes.

Luckily for both of us you've got a terrific mom, and we work really well together. You've also got a great extended family, who will probably be very annoyed with me as they're reading this...talking about death, debt, and all that icky stuff. But the Rhoades' and Godwin's are all very sane people...especially your mom and I. So you won't have to worry about turning out mental because part of your genetic seed is faulty.

Though, hopefully, whether you're a boy or a girl, you end up with more of your mom's looks than mine. Or, at least, you're spared my overly broad nose, squinky eyes, and receding hairline. But there's nothing you can do to help that -- I mean, I've lived with those things, and I managed to attract a babe like your mother, so it's probably not nearly as bad as I make it out to be.

But more than anything, I hope you're happy. Content. All that. You don't need to be successful, or rich, or powerful, or famous, or any of those things people strive for. You don't have to achieve great things, or leave some kind of lasting impression on humanity. I just want you to enjoy yourself. Do things that make you proud. Things that interest you; excite you. And if you're doing something that makes you unhappy, knock it off and do something else.

I'll be chock full of wise wisdom like that...provided I don't die suddenly before you're carried to term. Because, even though I'm scared, feeling unworthy, and totally unprepared for your arrival...I'm really looking forward to it. It's one of those unselfish, rewarding parts of human nature that I want to experience. I think I can help raise you right. If, somehow, I failed? Well...I hope you can see that I tried with every ounce of my being, and gave you as good a shot as anyone out there.

Guess that's it. Did I answer your questions? Did you have anything else? Shoe size? Um. 11 1/2. College GPA? 3.3. Any other questions, I mean, about my personality or anything?

No? Okay, good. Good luck. And make me proud, dammit. As if I could ever not make me proud, you rad little bean.


Love,

Dad