Dear PiePie,
You are 1 today. As I sit, writing this amidst your celebratory balloons and large “1” sign, I can’t help but feel wistful, as if already reminiscing of a life that has barely yet begun.
There isn’t a second go at life. There isn’t a rewind, pause or even fast-forward (why would you ever do that?). The singular happenstance that is life, is what makes life so precious. Everything happens once – you read a book for the first time only once, or you read it again a second time once, the experience different from the first.
You become one, once.
Years later, you may not remember it. But we will. This celebration is as much for you as it is for us. In some ways, it’s a celebration of your mom, your yaya and me – we did a thing, you, and in doing so, we left our own transient mark on the world. And we’ll be sure to document it. Technology now is amazing. We can take videos, we can take photos.
I was born in a time before videotaking was ubiquitous. When I look back at the photos I have of myself when I was young, I see a static image. But for my dad, if he should look at the photo, perhaps in his mind he recalls the “video of life” that surrounds the static image. The smell of the birthday candles in our old house, the jokes that may have been cracked in getting me to look at the camera, the stories that he might have told the day after at work. Even while we have videos now, the longer “documentary of life” remains mainly in our memories, ready to be revisited when we see the photos or videos.
And that’s why we celebrate. Not because in this particular moment when you turn one, you suddenly gained superpowers that you didn’t have the day before – you are pretty much the same you, still trying to eat books and remote controls and hair off the floor. No, we celebrate because these serve as checkpoints of remembrance. And we desperately want to remember you as you are now because oh baby, you grow so quickly.
We need to be thankful even as we complain that you are heavy, because you still want us to carry you. We need to be thankful as you whine in your baby chair and try to spit out food, because you still rely on us to feed you. We need to be thankful that you are afraid of strangers, because you still need us to guide you through this strange world.
Because one day, you’ll be independent – physically, emotionally and spiritually. And then, we will no longer have the duty of carrying, feeding or guiding you. This duty is tiring. This duty sometimes feel like a burden. This duty demands trade-offs in time spent doing what we may enjoy. But this duty is a privilege, for in needing us to do those things for you, you put your unconditional trust in us.
Thank you, for the duty of being your dad. It is my privilege and honor. You will, hopefully, have such a long long journey ahead of you. I can only hope that, for as long as is possible, you have unconditional trust in our love and care for you. That we will be there, if you need us, and that we will always be your safety net.
Love, Dad