A letter to Joe on his 10th birthday.
Dear Joe -
Like yesterday, I remember when your mom told me she was pregnant with you. She and I so wanted J.P. to have a sibling, so the two of you could grow up together. And, as is always the case, God answered our prayers.
Your mom was exhausted after surgery when you were born and I held you in my arms for what seemed like hours while we waited for her to wake up. I rocked you and talked quietly to you. I sang to you. Elizabeth Mitchell - "So Glad You're Here" - changing the words of the song to "J.P.'s glad you're here," "NC's glad you're here," etc. Over and over again.
I could tell from those first few hours I spent with you, alone, that you were a fighter. Tough and confident. A survivor. You were destined to be a leader. I could sense it. Nothing has happened since that morning to make me feel otherwise, because you're all of those things, and so much more.
I loved the times we spent together, walking through the neighborhood, as you slept in the stroller, the Baby Jogger City Elite. In those days, the highlight of my week was Saturday and Sunday afternoons walks with you. Often times, we would end up at Bongo Java or the Tap Room on 12th Avenue. I'd read the New Yorker and have a cup of coffee or a beer while you slept. When you woke up, stretched your arms, and looked up at me from the stroller, smiling, my heart filled with joy. I'd hand you a sippy cup of milk and some Goldfish crackers, and watch while you contentedly snacked away.
After you started at Children's House, I usually took you there in the mornings. Your mom took J.P. to USN first, then you and I had a hour or so alone. We called it "Joe Time." I loved that time together in the mornings, just the two or us. Sometimes we went to Bongo Java for "second breakfast." Other times, we wen to Belmont U. and played football in the atrium outside the Curb Center. Students walking by never failed to smile and laugh, as I chased you into the "end zone" near the ticket office after you scored another touchdown. Those were good days, for sure.
I love your competitive spirit. Just like J.P., you've always had it. You play hard. You play to win. You compete. That will take you a long way in life. All these years, that's what I've worked to instill in you, and your brother, the desire to complete and to be the absolute best you can be in everything you do. Athletically. Academically. And, some day, professionally.
It's been one of the true joys of my life to coach you in sports, especially baseball, with our Junior Dodgers and, later, with Coach Oliver (Davis) and the Diamondbacks. I think baseball is a sport you have a real aptitude for if you continue to put the work in, as I suspect you will. Last spring, I loved watching you and J.P. throw together in the back yard, as he worked with you on pitching.
Your mom and I are blessed to have two sons who get along with each other as well as the two of you do. Nothing makes up happier than hearing you guys talking and laughing together. Playing X-box together. Playing Nerf basketball together in the playroom upstairs. J.P. loves you, intensely, and is just as proud of you as your mom and I are. He always will be there for you, as a mentor, a friend, and your older brother. There is nothing he won't do for you.
I love your sense of humor and your kind heart. I'll always believe a lot of that comes from Carley. She loved you so much. Your relationship with her was special and unique. She held you in her heart, always. Carley lives on through you and J.P., as well.
Ten years - a decade - in the books. I'm so blessed to have you as my second son. I can't imagine life without you, Joe. Every day, you brighten all of our lives. You make me laugh. I'm so proud of you. I can't wait to spend the next 10 years with you.
Love,
Dad
Happy 10th, Joe.
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