Dear Linus,

For two years I have wanted to write this letter, to begin a record of our journey together, a gift to present to you on your 21st birthday.
Funny how we get so caught up in daily minutiae that we neglect matters far more important, matters of the heart, matters that make memories.
I apologize for my selfishness.
I could have found the time.

Last night, at Aunt Susie’s house, you started crying in the middle of the night after we moved you from the guest room bed to the couch.
I guess the unfamiliar surroundings caused a touch of fear.
When I came to comfort you, you didn’t speak, curled into a tiny ball under the blanket.
I asked if you felt afraid. You nodded your head.
I asked if you wanted to sleep with Mom and Dad. You nodded your head again.

I picked you up and carried you to my side where we snuggled and kept each other warm.
This morning, you didn’t remember any of it.
But I did.

I lay awake next to you wondering if you would have any children of your own, wondering whether you would experience the immense joy on a deep, primordial level that I feel in the quiet before dawn, your sleepy-head tickling my nose, the smile that flowed so naturally from my failed efforts at smoothing out the static in your hair.

My son.
My favorite boy in the whole world.
Our legacy.

Nothing I ever do will match the importance of the stewardship of you and your baby sister.
No book I ever write, no speech, no appearance.
Only my commitment to loving your mother comes even close, for in that commitment lie so many life-shaping lessons.
I wrestle every day with setting a true example.

Today we talk of swords and dinosaurs, Power Rangers and super heroes, sugary food and playground monkey bars.
What will we speak of tomorrow?
Will we discuss your views of the universe, the difference between gratitude and appreciation, what does the afterlife hold?

I hope so.
Will you grow up pensive and introverted, playful and extroverted, athletic, musical, all of the above?
Wow. The immensity of possibilities boggles my mind.
I want to ski down the slopes, sail across the seas, race up a mountain trail on a bike, rest at the top, gaze across the vista and sit, you with your reflections, I with mine.

Tears of joy cloud my vision as I scribble these messages.
Though words will never convey the depth and breadth of my emotions, I close with one dominant thought that grips my very soul when it comes to you.

I love you, son, more than you will ever know.


That’s A View From The Ridge…

Author's Bio: 

POSTSCRIPT TO ALL PARENTS—Writing letters to my children has turned out to be one of the most rewarding and fulfilling exercises I have ever done. The emotion that pours forth helps once again to confirm the indescribable, amazing, inexplicable bond between parent and child.

Seldom do we have a chance to express all that we feel toward our children. So much junk gets in the way—formalities, last week’s upset, the fact that they don’t call enough or you don’t call enough or whatever.

Give yourself an enormous gift. Reach out and tell your child(ren) how much they mean to you. When you do, YOU WILL FEEL YOUR OWN HEART OPEN! What a fabulous way to begin your holiday.

I’d love to hear from you personally. Please email me at or visit my website at