Hello

Hey Kid,

I've been thinking about you for a long time. Even when I was nine, I was snatching my favorite books out of boxes headed to GoodWill, hoping that one day I might give them to you. You're still a figment of my imagination. The truth is, you may never exist, who knows? And, to be quite blunt, (and don't take this the wrong way), I've been trying to put off having you for as long as possible. But my reason doesn't really have that much to do with the usual business about freedom and responsibility. My real reason for not having you yet is that I don't want to screw you up.

There's a box of journals somewhere that I always meant for you to have someday. Sadly, they're boring as poop, unless you're somehow interested in your mother's teenage angst and boy problems. My thought was that it might help you to know that I wasn't perfect when I was your age, no matter how I might want to lie and pretend now. With any luck, you won't be overly-impressed by me anyway, but I hope that we'll respect each other. And so I wanted to be honest with you from the beginning, I wanted a reason to keep me honest with you. I figure that's something you can respect.

But now I feel inclined to try something even more specific. I'm 24 as of a couple weeks ago. I relocated from San Francisco to Montreal last year, accidentally, after a long, lonely road trip across America. I fell in love with the man I'm with now, Dav, and he is asleep in the other room. He's good to me, he's a kind, decent man. He turned 30 a few months ago, and he is wiser than I am. He keeps me somewhat balanced. I am not always balanced. You may have discovered this already. I'm so sorry. I have been trying to get myself under control before you come.

This is us:
The point is, he may turn out to be your Dad. He's at an age where all of his friends are starting to have kids. He has a job that's stable enough to support a family. And he loves me deeply. Since I love him very much too, I have to start thinking that we might have you in a few years.

Incidentally, if we're still in Montreal when you're reading this, please don't hate me. Could be worse. I could have moved to Phoenix. San Francisco was damn expensive.

The point of all of this is, these are letters to you, but also for me, of things that I am learning as I go, trying so hard to bear in mind for your sake. I'm going to try to write down everything I want to remember as I parent you. And I'm going to try to explain to you about my own Mom and Dad, so you know where I'm coming from. The truth is, we all learn how to be adults from our parents, for better or for worse, and despite all the pain I went through in becoming an adult, I deeply fear repeating my parent's mistakes, simply because I don't know any better. I love my parents now, at last, although with a certain level of foreboding, and I hope that nothing I say will come off as nasty. But you deserve to know.

And, of course, I'll tell you about me. Two years out of college, a degree in literature from the University of California at Santa Cruz, writing every day, some days thinking I understand so much, some days feeling like the world's greatest fool. Odd-looking, but kinda pretty, well-built, athletic, (well, who knows how you see me now). I'll post more pictures so you can see a little bit more of what I'm talking about--not just me, but my whole world.

I hope it's still a good world to live in by the time you get here.

I love you.


C.