June 12, 1975
Some day, when you're grown, you may read these letters to see if you can find in them some hint of what you were as a child. I'm almost forty-one and the little boy I was is almost lost to me — he exists, at great distance, in photographs and half-memories. It may be the same with you, or possibly, reading these, you may catch a glimpse of something buried very deep.

I do. Every time I read them, maybe twice a year, around holidays. It's eerie just how much of yourself is clear at age four — the tricks and habits, both the good and the bad, when we were too young to try or to care to hide them. The truth is, we don't change much. Who we become is a combination of learned behavior, trial and error, and chance. The child my father chronicled may have grown a few inches, but she still gets grumpy without enough sleep, is willful and stubborn at times, and, despite her efforts to appear otherwise, wounds easily.

This year I turned 30. My father has been gone longer than he was here, at least according to my count. I still haven't read all of the letters. I'm saving a few. For what, I'm not sure. Maybe because I'm not quite ready for him to be completely gone. And when I read the last remaining one, it will, in a way, be our last conversation.

In what would be the final letter he wrote to me, my father signed off with this:

May 2, 1986
And though you're on the verge of young womanhood, and beginning now to disengage ever so slightly, one of my great pleasures is kissing you before you go to bed, when you're sleepy and momentarily a child again, and you say, "Night, Daddy. Love you." I love you too. And then you say, "See you tomorrow." And I say, "That you will." I hope there are many tomorrows. If not, there have been many, many wonderful yesterdays.

Yes, there were, Dad. And thank you for writing them down.

Eight Universal Truths of Youth

My father's letters are a refresher course in the basics — basics that I'd do well to remember.

Age 2: Sometimes it's all right to let no be your favorite word.

Age 4: There's nothing wrong with running around naked. (But if you're into double digits, you might want to draw the blinds.)

Age 5: Reading is great, but it's awfully nice to be read to.

Age 8: Real life isn't just like high school — it's just like second grade.

Age 10: Braces are worth it.

Age 11: Turning another year older can indeed provoke unbridled joy.

Age 12: Boys are good.

Age 14: Knowing everything isn't all it's cracked up to be.