This is your father. It's about a month before you are born. If we end up changing your name in the next couple of weeks, just stick Joseph or Abel or whatever we went with. Unless it's Dennis. Then I'm just sorry.
It is still weird for me to think of you as real person. Because once you are a real person in my mind, then that means I'm a real father, and I don't think either of us are ready for that.
That's the main purpose of this letter. I want to let you know upfront that I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I'm going to mess up pretty much everything that I try to do for you.
I'm sorry your first diaper is going to be on backwards, your first bottle will be Oval-tine and that your first bath is going to be the scariest event in either of our lives.
I'm sorry that I won't have an in depth answer for a lot of your questions and will often have to say something broad like “Because the prophet says so,” or “Because your mom's Chinese.”
I'm sorry that you're going to have eat my cooking.
I'm sorry that every embarrassing story about you is going to end up on the Internet.
I'm sorry that you're whole life people will ask you where you're from. If you end up looking totally Asian, except the massive goatee at age ten, I'm doubly sorry.
I'm sorry I'm not cool and won't be able to teach you how to be cool. I'm not good at foot ball or basketball or fixing cars or talking to girls. But if being cool ever requires some one teach you Dungeons and Dragons or how to say dinosaur names, I'm your man.
I'm sorry we can't have a dog. It's your mom's fault, but I'm still sorry.
I'm sorry that sometimes, when I think about you, and all the responsibility and changes that you represent, I get overwhelmed and have to put my head on my desk and just think about pie.
I'm sorry I'm going to mumble a lot and scare your friends. When you guys get older, you'll discover I'm hilarious.
I'm sorry I have to let doctors stab you with big needles and make you cry. I promise that it's for your own good and I'll buy you ice cream if you're a big boy.
I'm sorry I'm just a computer programmer, not what little boys dream their dads are, like a baseball player, an explorer or a robot.
I'm sorry about your Grandma Shinney. She was like that when I met her.
Mostly I'm sorry that you and I are both flawed human beings and as such will never be able to truly see eye to eye. I'm sorry that this, combined with the pride and stupidity our gender endows us with will keep us from having the relationship that we really want to have with each other.
I'm sorry that we'll both feel like there's nothing we can do about it.
I'm sorry for every awkward silence that may be endured.
I'm sorry for any angry words that may be said.
When we do finally get past all of this dumbness, I'll be sorry we didn't do it earlier.
And I'm sorry about any scares on your head that you're mother won't explain but just glares at me when you mention. You're probably going to be very slippery.
I'm sorry I always end my letters to you with my college catch phrase.
Steve Shinney is your father. He really does try heard, even if you can't tell. He hopes people will leave comments below.