Hey all,

I really do not know where to begin.  That partially explains my slothful ways.  At times it feels like I am looking at an existential map that says ‘You are Here’ all over it.  I am a dad!  None of my jeans fit any more so I decided to pass them on.  I have a beautiful baby girl named Rie. 

Now I have lied to the face of many friends by saying how cute their kid was and the like.  I am pretty sure that Rie is actually cute.  I am damn sure I do not want to hear otherwise so kindly extend me the same courtesy of lying to me if the opportunity arises.

I have not written for a long time.  Becoming a father has been the biggest thing to happen to me ever.  But I did not want to write the standard, canned baby poop and puke dribble stories that seems to have become my life. 

Instead I want to get a few apologies to my daughter out of the way before she is old enough to say something.  Well, say something other that mama over and over and over again.  What the heck is so hard about saying daddy?

I am sorry for switching from the Enfamil formula that guarantees to promote brain development to some product that guarantees not to cause scurvy.  Rest assured that I am putting the money we are saving aside for your allowance once you start pulling your own weight.

I am sorry for letting your mother relive a second childhood and play dress up on you.  A kid should not have to wear those things.

I am sorry County Stadium and the Fieldhouse were torn down before you were born.

I am sorry for wanting to feel your new tooth every five minutes.  It is just so damn cool.

I am sorry for letting the dogs clean your face.  But you know how those wipes make your face dry up.

I am sorry we have succumbed to pink.  We really entered into this deal with the intention of providing gender neutral colors. 

I am sorry you have to wear that goofy hat your ma got you.  When you get old enough I will show you how to use her bath towel as a floor mat in the mornings.  It will get you more attention from her and create a strong but silent bond between us as we listen to her holler from upstairs.

I am sorry that your ma would not consent to Lambeau as your middle name.

I am sorry I do not take the time to pick every little dog hair of the pacifiers.

I am sorry your ma finishes up a jar of sweet peaches with you and switches immediately to something bland called Garden Veggies.  You must know she laughs as you pucker up on the first spoonful.

I am sorry you will have no choice in what sport teams you will support as you grow up.

I am sorry you got my hair.  It will not last long.  In fact, it will break before it gets long.

I am sorry the cat does not like you.  Say the word and she can go on a boat trip.

I am really sorry Ken Brown has our address.

I am sorry I pretended not to hear you that one Sunday during the Packer game.  It was the fourth quarter of a darn good game.  You will understand that one......well maybe not as they have not had a good game in months.

I am sorry I will be working in the same school you are going to.  That one really messed me up. 

I am sorry for No Child Left Behind.  You have my permission to lag all you want.  I used to run the two mile in track so I know if you lag far enough behind pretty soon those others appear to be behind you. 

I am sorry you have to wear a bib.  The food you are eating now does not fall far enough to reach the floor and feed the dogs.

I am sorry your birth missed the cut off day for PFD eligibility.

Intermittently Yours,

bruce

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