What a Joy it is

A Love Letter for the Two Who Made Me A Dad.

I love gazing at stars, finding magic in their twinkling lights among the deepest shades of blue. When I drive and catch a glimpse of a perfect full moon just west of our golden hills, I feel gratitude for my timing and space on this beautiful earth of ours.

I wasn’t always a stargazer. I don’t recall studying the order of planets as a kid, let alone questioning their existence. Anything related to the solar system went right over my head; therefore, my interest in the topic was minimal at best.

Then you two came along and opened a door in my life to which my key had long been misplaced. It wasn’t just the stars. What had been complex and confusing was still complex and confusing, but curiosity found new meaning as I sought answers for you.

“Daddy, what star is that?”

“I’m not sure, babe. Let’s find out together.”

I’d sit with you two forever if you’d let me, embracing the serene sound of roots growing underneath our tree, simply waiting to see a shooting star from our front yard. And when we finally catch that star, you two can have my wish. Mine came true the second you called me Dad.

There are roughly 100 billion stars in our galaxy. Isn’t that absurd? We could spend our lives pursuing each one, connecting dots like we do in our books, and still barely scratch the surface of who they are.

There’s Sirius and Vega, HD 143183, and, of course, the sun. As you ask me for their names, and I dig deep to locate an answer, I find myself in awe of each star’s position in our galaxy, realizing they all have a genesis we’ll never fully know. How did they choose their spot in the sky? How long has that one been up there? Is anyone else staring at the same star as us right now?

As each minute passes and gravity begins to bend its rules, I consider myself the luckiest man on earth to gaze at these stars with you.

I didn’t know what to expect being a dad. Nobody does. You read these books on how to master fatherhood, and then your kid shows up and says, “Yeah, about that…”

Every child is its own brand-new color, waiting to be discovered, and you two, my loves, have painted a breathtaking portrait worthy of the most coveted spot in the Louvre or our refrigerator door.

For as long as I can remember, I knew I wanted to be a dad. I knew I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. I wanted to prove to my dad that I could do it. That I could be present. That I could be worthy. That I could be good.

I wanted to hold you close to my chest as you experienced your first hiccups.

I wanted to watch you take your time, scribbling on a piece of scrap paper right before you turn to me and say, “Here. I made this for you.”

I wanted to lie in the middle of your floor, exhausted after cleaning your bedsheets at two in the morning.

I wanted us to share the good, the painful, and all the moments in between that make us human.

I wanted everything that fatherhood had to offer.

I am lucky enough to hold your hand and help you build your confidence on the days it needs a little boost. I get to witness your flame ignite as you discover pieces of yourself that help you form your future self. I get to watch you grow, learn, and inspire others just like you’ve done for me. I used to want to be a dad, but today, I can confidently say that all my life, I just wanted to be your dad.

When I look at the sky, I don’t have many answers. I sit peacefully on my tiny piece of the earth, knowing there is so much around us that I will never truly understand. But as you lie on my chest, warming my heart as you study patterns in the sky, my feelings of insignificance feel insignificant because in this moment, marvel and stillness are the only things that matter.

4.5 billion years. Over 100 billion people have lived underneath the very stars we’ll chase tonight. An infinite number of scenarios could have placed me anywhere in the world at any other time in history. Still, fate somehow wove our lives together, allowing our timelines to align for even a brief moment in time. May the rest of my days be built on gratitude and wonder.

To the sweet sound of a light breeze and the beat of your heart, what a joy it is to be your dad.