Daddy Scratches | Zan: 7 years

Dear Zan,

Seeing as how your sister turned five a few days ago, I figured I should finally write the letter I’ve been planning to write you since your birthday last month. Sorry, dude; through no fault of your own, your seventh birthday took place smack dab in the midst of The Great Clusterf**k of 2010 (and please note my use of not just one, but two asterisks back there … because I am a responsible parent who believes blatant use of the “F” word should be avoided when writing to a 7-year-old. Take that, people who think I’m not fit to raise children!).

During the weeks surrounding your birthday, a series of tumultuous events took place, most notably: me losing my job; your mother and I trying to sell the house so that our family can move to the Philadelphia area; your mother and I looking for a new home and new jobs in the Philadelphia area; your mother and I not being able to actually secure a new home or new jobs in the Philadelphia area because no one ~~has~~ had yet bought our house; most of my side of the family dealing with a moderately serious family emergency (the details of which I’m not at liberty to share here, but feel free to ask me about it someday … when you’re, like, 30); and me spending every waking moment trying to scrape together as much freelance work as possible so that we could still fund what your mother and I refer to as Birthday Season.

Taking into account not only your mid-June birthday and your sister’s mid-July birthday, but also the concomitant “Friend Party” and “Family Party” for each, as well as the nonstop hype and anticipation leading up to the festivities, a pair of what would otherwise be single-day events ends up feeling like a month-long observance.

But anyway…

Dude, you’re seven years old. SEVEN! YEARS! OLD! You know what this means, don’t you? It means I’ve managed to avoid inadvertently causing your death for a full 84 months! Yay, me!

Seriously, though: You rock. You’re an awesome kid. And I’m not just saying that because the Internet is watching.

As I’ve documented (more than once, even) over the past several years, your mother and I were long concerned about your very moody behavior, and about the intensity and duration of your many temper tantrums … all of which started to improve significantly a couple of years ago, but continued to be present. Reluctant to send you back to the manufacturer for a replacement model, we searched high and low for ways to help you, and ultimately settled on a holistic treatment that you and I participated in together just prior to Christmas of last year … and, somewhat to my surprise, it seems to have actually worked (for you, that is … but I won’t bore you here with my spectacular meltdown and bumpy return to somewhat-normal); seven months later, you are much less moody, and I can’t remember the last time you completely lost your shit when, say, Mommy decided to leave the house without you; in the past, that alone had caused a myriad of full-on, hour-long fits of fury that threatened to make my skull explode, and made me pray for the sweet silence that such an explosion would bring with it.

Do you sometimes still get upset by seemingly little things, and are you still prone to falling into a sour, disagreeable or generally melancholy mood? Most definitely … but having Mr. Easily Upset & Oh-So-Moody as your father kind of makes that unavoidable. In general, however, you are, as of late, a much more easygoing, upbeat kind of kid. [Massive sigh of relief.]

Which isn’t to say you’re not quirky. I don’t know many kids who, if their grandmother gave them the opportunity to pick out their own birthday present, would opt for the deluxe George Washington costume:

But, because you are fascinated by history — particularly the Revolutionary War era — that is just what you did. Apparently, you no longer were satisfied with faking it in your own clothes:

You are bright and funny and extremely well-spoken, often to the point of being comical. For example: the other day, while I was caring for you and your sister in the midst of an insane heatwave, I pretended I was going to take your sister’s water bottle from her.

“Daddy, don’t steal my water!,” she shouted.

“I have to!,” I replied, then sang, “I’m a water thief! I’ll steal all of your water! I’ll steal it from my son and I’ll steal it from my daughter!”

“Hey, Dad,” you exclaimed, “nice limerick!” Nice limerick? Who the hell says that? Besides you, I mean? I don’t know … but I love it.

Lots of milestones this past year … like losing your first tooth just after Christmas (one of your two bottom-front choppers):

You lost the other of your bottom-front teeth just a short while later. The permanent tooth that replaced the first came in quickly and straight, but the other remained M.I.A. for months … apparently because it lost its way, as evidenced by the completely fucked up fashion in which it has since emerged. I’m already looking forward to that second mortgage I’ll need to straighten your shit out. (On a related note: one of your two top-front teeth is now loose … and I think I might actually get a little choked up when I see that big gap in your smile. You’re growing up so damn fast. It freaks me out. [Insert more clichés here.])

You successfully completed first grade … and, not only that, you really enjoyed it. You have lots of friends and are well-liked. If you can keep this up for the next 11 years, we should be OK.

You continue to love playing sports, which is awesome, because it has been such a confidence-builder for you, as well as a great way to bond with your peers. As someone who spent the first three-plus decades of his life mostly abhorring sports, and much of his childhood severely lacking in self-confidence, I’m thrilled to see you take to sports as enthusiastically as you have.

Baseball continues to be your favorite, which is cool, because it is the game I most enjoy. I coached your baseball team for the third season in a row this year, and the difference in your ability from that first season to now is mind-blowing. Granted, you’ve deluded yourself into thinking you’re ready for the majors already, but I’d rather you be overconfident than under-confident. (I’d also prefer you actually make it into the majors someday, as that essentially represents the sum total of my retirement plan — which is why I’m encouraging you to carry on with your “power of positive thinking” approach.)

We play catch almost daily during the warm-weather months, and I am so loving it; I recall fantasizing during your toddler years, when you insisted on playing catch (which, of course, initially consisted of me practically dropping the ball into your glove), how cool it would be to one day fire the ball back and forth to each other from a good distance.

Turns out that, although I suck when it comes to financial investments, my investment of time in teaching you how to throw and catch a baseball has paid off. (See previous comment about baseball-centric retirement strategy.) In recent weeks, you’ve thrown me the ball with enough force to actually cause me some discomfort when I’ve caught it in the palm of my glove. (Of course, that could also be attributed to the fact that I’m a big pussy, but still…)

As was the case last year, you again chose to have a baseball-themed birthday party at an indoor sports facility (which took place just a few hours after our scheduled baseball game that morning) …

… and you started the summer by attending a five-day baseball clinic near our house, which you loved, and at which you excelled.

One of the coaches at the clinic manages our town’s intercity-league team, and he invited you to be a bat boy, which you did for the first time the other night. You were pretty much in your glory sitting on the bench with the players during the game.

Now, listen: If you are reading this as an adult, I hope you are not doing so at a therapist’s office in order to demonstrate to your shrink how your asshole father pushed you to play baseball, because, seriously, dude: this is all you. Do I love that you love it? Yes. Would I try to force you to continue if you suddenly decided you no longer enjoyed it? Maybe … but then I’d realize I was being a douche, and I’d back off.

Of course, my biggest concern for you in the coming year is your adjustment to the major transition we’re about to undertake. It appears that we’ve sold the house and will be living somewhere in Pennsylvania by the end of next month. You’ll be leaving your friends and starting at a new school, and I feel a tremendous amount of sorrow and apprehension about putting you through that … but, so far, at least, you are mostly expressing enthusiasm and excitement about our impending relocation. I hope that your mother and I succeed at making it as painless and smooth as possible for you and your sister.

With that in mind, I decided during our most recent visit to Pennsylvania to take you to your first Phillies game. We’ve seen the Red Sox play at Fenway Park lots of times, but you’d never been to another ballpark, and Citizen’s Bank Park in Philly is a spectacular facility, so I thought it would be a great way to give you something to be excited about with regard to living in that area. (And the fact that I was able to get us first-row, Hall of Fame Club seats for only $65 a pop on the morning of the game makes me excited about relocating, because obtaining a pair of comparable tickets at Fenway would require me to sell one of my kidneys.)

I will admit that, although I think it will prove to be a great thing for our family, I am nervous about our out-of-state move. I grew up here, and, so far, you have, too … so leaving it all behind is a scary prospect … but spending the afternoon at that Phillies game with you, and envisioning doing so plenty more times in the future, was definitely a comforting experience for me. And I hope it was for you, too … because nothing in this world means more to me than you and your happiness, my son.