Published June 5, 2005 in the Hibbing Daily Tribune
Dear Henry,
You were born at 6:47 p.m. on Thursday, May 26 at the Fairview University Medical Center-Mesabi in Hibbing. I know that’s a lot of information all at once, but you have to understand that grownups like long names for things, especially when they include hyphens.
It was a long ordeal getting you into this world. First, your mom’s nine months of pregnancy challenged us. (Why all the kicking and dropping, eh?). Then, when it was time for you to show up, mom had to endure a long labor before doctors delivered you by c-section instead. You weighed nine pounds, 11 ounces and, by the look of things, inherited the dominant “Giant Brown Family Head” gene. Luckily, you were cute enough for your mom not to hold this against you.
Spending so much time in the hospital gave me some time to think. I write this knowing that you can’t read yet. We’ll work on that. And we’ll work on holding your head up and feeding yourself, too. Don’t worry, we’ve got time. I just wanted to put a few thoughts down before we took you home from the hospital, because things are going to get pretty crazy over the next few days, or 18 years from what I’m told.
It can be cold here. You might have picked up on that when we showed up at the hospital in gale force winds and chilly rain. Fortunately, you were born in the summertime. Yes, this is summer in your home state. We’ll try our best to keep you warm. If experience has taught me anything, it’s that the best clothes to keep you warm are also the dumbest looking. Keep this in mind when we dress you up in some of the outfits we have waiting for you. Also keep in mind that the warmest feelings come from the people who will be your friends even when you’re wearing dumb looking clothes.
It can be confusing here. I know, because I’ve been here 25 years and still don’t know what the hell is going on. Oh, yeah. Don’t say “hell.” You’ll note that at this point, I still have some parenting skills to work on. I’m hoping that by the time you can read, you appreciate irony. Perhaps by then, I’ll have learned to say “phooey” when I can’t easily put together a simple item, such as a cradle, instead of that particularly nasty word I used the other week. I also hope that you always try to find the answers before giving up on this confusing world, especially when it comes to other people. I further hope that your cradle does not collapse with you in it.
It can be complicated here. I can’t promise you that everything is going to be perfect. You will love and lose, experience heartbreak and deception. But you will know happiness if you don’t let these things control your life. You will also see sunrises over the lake, meet all your grandparents, learn how to write, paint, play and fish, and look out over a world full of even more possibilities than existed when I was your age.
As I look at you in your crib, not knowing what interests you will develop and what course your life will take, I realize that all the things they say about being a father are true. I’m already proud of you. I already feel joy in my heart just thinking about you. I already love you. And if you don’t hear it enough when you’re old enough to read, let this letter remind you that I always will.
Love,
Dad
Aaron J. Brown is a columnist for the Hibbing Daily Tribune.