Merry Christmas, Dad.
When I drew your name for the Christmas stockings, I am not going to lie, I had no idea what to get you. There are a lot of things I love that I know you love too - coffee, whiskey, my kids, our family, Ghostbusters. Writing.
I remember being a kid, seeing you writing in your black, hardback journal. You'd stare off into space, your pen perched on your teeth, as you leaned back in your desk chair. You were lost in thought. When you finally landed on exactly what it was you wanted to say, you leaned forward and wrote it down. That journal seemed to me like a keeper of mysteries, a spell book, a different kind of spiritual. I knew where it lived, on the shelf. I never opened it. I thought for sure you'd know, and even as a kid I had the sense that what lived there was yours alone.
As an adult I started a blog and didn't tell anyone about it for over a year. It was my journal. There's something about the blog format, particularly the non-profit variety, that lends itself to the kind of off-leash thinking that is so often incredibly revealing, deeply moving. When you're writing a blog you don't polish. You don't preen. You produce. You set your fingers to the keys and go. Any writer will tell you that there is no more important trait of a writer than this: he writes.
Recently you told me that you wanted to write about your life, that you found yourself remembering stories from your childhood that you felt you needed to record.
This blog is for you, to do that. Tell all the stories that are the bricks that built you.
I can't wait to read whatever it is you decide to share.
In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this gift - this is one of the things I love the most. I'm really excited to share it with you.
PS - I set this up through my gmail account but will add you as an admin as soon as you open your present, and then excuse myself from the process, effectively transferring ownership of the blog to you.
PPS - If you want, www.1954topresent.com is available, at least as of Deccember 5 at 10:28 pm EST.