An Open Letter to My Daughter


Your mother is worried about our relationship as you, three years old, and I, thirty-eight years old, grow older and has suggested that I take the opportunity to regularly write down my thoughts and feelings about our relationship. Without any prodding of your mother, I have agreed. It is important to me that you know how much I love you, how much joy and hope you give me every day and how much I want you to be happy.

As I have grown older, I have learned to appreciate the beauty of achievement in small, but measurable and committed steps. I did this in the year you were born, 2005. I decide on the first of that year, without much thought and any knowledge of your being, that I would take a moment from each day and make a paper crane, and by the end of that year, as if it were a reward for my diligent labor, I was blessed with your arrival. Those 365 paper cranes are displayed in our home, floating from the ceiling, and I hope that they are a permanent fixture of your childhood, a reminder of beauty created by your father.

As you will learn, this is a theme your father will constantly return to. My current project of the beauty in achievement is our geocaching streak, currently at 755 straight days with at least a find. Our goal is 1001 straight days, a play on the stories of the Arabian Nights. I took up geocaching because of you, McKenzie. I wanted something for us to do together, that would nurture a love of travel and discovery, and I see that in you as it manifests itself in your excitement in the discovery of a new park or playground.

And now I embark on another quest for you. I have committed to writing you an open letter each week. Many of which will probably be not very good or informative, but as a whole body of work, spectacular.

Your father

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