An excerpt from a letter I'm writing Berkeley. Life shall not sit still, even if you chain it to a chair.
"Lately you've grown fond of trains and
tunnels. You want to watch videos of trains all day long and if
anything hints at being a makeshift tunnel you're under it without a
second thought. Someone on the floor with a pair of legs bent in the
shape of an A? Tunnel! Tomorrow we approach a big day: your first
day of preschool. We'll ride upon our own metaphorical train into a
new tunnel. We don't know what exactly is in it or where it exactly
leads. We cling to each other (me more than you) in excitement,
sadness, joy, apprehension, and hope. We enter a little family of
three. Who knows how we exit. You'll start learning things, many
things, not from the words and examples of your parents but from
people who are now strangers but whom we presume we'll eventually
love. In a broad since our family grows. Which is a good thing. But
we send you out into the world now, the first taste of our little
girl leaving home. And I'm stuck on that sentence. My Little Joy, one
day I'll miss you so much."
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