April 26, 1984 Bamburg Germany. I got a phone call from the U.S. (long-distance). A precious life had been brought into the world. It was a girl, and her name was Chessnee. The whole barracks smelled like cigars for days.
I have a fair-sized list of my shortcomings as a parent. There’s no use in elaborating on that. The existence of such a list, rather than denying my faults, is the point. Maybe I needed to write that, just to get it out of my head. Let a wee bit of light shine on it.
I hope my Daughter has a Happy Birthday. She is a beautifully amazing woman. I Love Her dearly.
People must go through all the birthday cards in the store and take the ones with money in them. I can’t find one anywhere. Oh well, I’ll send a few dead Presidents and hope they fit. Getting the right size is difficult.
This picture hangs in the hallway beside my office door. Late last century, Mom had taken Chessnee on a road trip to Mexico. This is what people do on road trips to Mexico.
My face started leaking about halfway through the first paragraph. I’ll stop now.
“Best Dad” coffee mugs
Dead Presidents’ Hallmark Cards