Your grandfather started writing me letters during my second year at university. The time I was finally coming alive. For a rather brief period that looking back seems like the longest chapter of my life I was happy. I sincerely wish you will not be like me.

You’re a happy child, smiling most of the time, unless you have violent cramps and your mum and I get desperate and debate whether it’s time to rush you to the hospital.

Most days you’re the only thing that can make me smile. I am quite certain I give you more love and affection than most fathers. I may be mostly dead inside, stripped of all illusions and most aspirations, but I still have a speck of arrogance left.

Your laughter is also by far the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. It may even trump the moaning of almost all the women in heat I have known. I strongly suggest you read this after turning 25.

I don’t talk too much about you to other people because you are the most intimate part of my life. You are so beautiful to hear and to look at that it physically hurts me. When I think that lots of shitty things happened in my life I do realize how lucky we have been that you were born healthy, all limbs intact and moving.

I honestly think we take good care of you. Neither your mum nor me are no strangers to psychology books and we genuinely love you all the way and are not afraid to show you. We don’t believe in the monstrous insanity that we should let you cry yourself sleep. Who in the hell came up with that fucked up theory?

I am much more sensitive to stories of child abuse. I find myself having day dreams with all the sadistic things I would do to someone like Mengele or Peter Scully for what they did to children. I won’t go into detail, but I would take my time.

Perhaps on some level this is my anger at life looking for a legitimate excuse to take that anger out on someone.

The worst threat to you is ‘the unlived life of the parent.’

According to this theory (to me it’s not a reality but an inescapable fact) the child goes on to try and live out the dreams that the parent failed to live out. In that sense you have your work cut out for you. As I did.

I failed to live the unlived dreams of my father. I think it’s almost impossible to not pass them on to you. I will try though, because they are too much to handle.

Important to note is that you were very wanted and that you are simply put: an inevitability.

We are overwhelmingly aware of how important these first years of you are. We are doing our utmost to create a safe, fun, stimulating, regular, non-chaotic, loving environment for you.

My biggest fear is only that I will pass on my complete disenchantment with life and humanity. Your father has an obvious case of soul rot, which anyone who knows him from up close can confirm. Luckily am not the only factor in your life and I know a thing or two about psychology. Your safety net in this case is that my love for you is pure.

By the way, there is no picture of you to go with this post because your mother and I have decided never to publish any pictures of you before you’re old enough to decide if you’re ok with that.

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