I am a stand-up comedian.
That means I travel for work. Over the past few years I’ve averaged 30,000 miles a year on my car. And that’s, as said, on my car. Factor in plane tickets and rental cars and… yeah. I’m away from home a lot.
Which is great; it’s good to be working. But I have two young children at home. I’ve missed first words and first steps while sitting in a hotel room or standing on a stage.
To combat the missed moments, I started writing letters to my kids. As each aged from year one to year two in life, I’d document what we did while I was home, and tell them where I was when I was away.
The following is one such note, written to my son.
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Hey Buddy…
I am in Livonia, Michigan, thinking about an article Mommy sent me.
The story discussed babies and brainwaves, and the focus was Russian children turned sociopaths. A study discovered that if orphaned at birth—depending on their circumstances—certain babies would sit in their crib and cry. Which is normal; babies cry. But if the orphanage had too few workers, and no caretaker arrived to soothe the infant for hours and then days, the baby’s brain waves were so affected by the trauma that they shut down. They “learned” at a very, very young age to go neutral as a form of self-preservation. As they aged, the children were emotionally “dead,” with no concern for other people; they had no empathy in them.
It was one of the most depressing things I have ever read.
When you were four months old, you woke up, agitated, at 1:26 AM. You got a couple short bursts out as I stole into your room as quickly as possible. Before your mewling could turn into a storm, I knelt by your crib, slipped an arm between two slats, and caressed your head.
Your fussing stopped immediately.
Immediately.
Your legs stopped kicking, your arms ceased their flailing, and you relaxed into the mattress, your eyes closed.
There is something incredibly powerful and humbling about being able to pacify an infant simply by giving it the skin-to-skin contact of your hand. A baby may not know much, but it knows warmth, and love. The reaction to a gentle touch is instinctive; there are no words needed to explain what goes through a baby’s tiny brain at that moment: I was scared and alone, but now someone is here. I am safe.
As you sighed peacefully back to sleep, I felt overwhelming love mixed with immense sorrow.
Sorrow because…
Well, let me explain it like this: when you buy a car, suddenly you notice that particular car everywhere on the road. Now that I’m a parent, almost every day I stumble across news articles involving the abuse of an infant or child. I’m sure those stories were always in the news, but now they leap out at me.
Maybe my brain is wired incorrectly, but as I knelt beside you, your tiny head eclipsed by the palm of my hand, the thought of Russian babies crying, with no one able or attempting to calm them made my heart sink. Call me weak, but I am not a parent that can allow my baby to “cry it out.”
As your sister, or “Sister” as you know her, ages, I allow her to explore and get “hurt” more often. Today when she falls, I smile and compliment her, saying something idiotic, like “Good job, sweetie!” The idea being that she will take her cues from me, and if I am not alarmed by her stumbles, she won’t be, either. When she was an infant, however, and confined to a crib? I would tend to her the instant her whimpering began.
Just like I do for you.
When you become a parent, that is your duty; you must care for your child. When you become a parent, your life is over in the best way possible. Instead of living inside the ego of “me, me, me,” you make peace with the simple truth that you must provide for another.
The idea anyone could not live up to that duty, that anyone could neglect or abandon an infant, or harm a child… I cannot wrap my head around it. The knowledge there are people who actively hurt children… I tell you this: show me someone who hurts the defenseless, and I will show you the reason I have trouble believing in God.
But that is neither here nor there.
With you sleeping peacefully once again, I decided to ease back my hand and exit the room. As I was closing the door, I took one final look down and wondered what had disturbed you in the first place. A nightmare? A noise? While it is a mystery I will never solve, in a flash a thought crossed my mind that wiped away all the negativity I had been swimming in.
Probably misses his old glasses.
I had to stifle a laugh, lest I wake you again.
There are few things in life a Simpsons reference cannot fix, and I promise to explain that one to you.
Love,
Dad
Interested in more? I turned the letters into a book. Buy it on Amazon, yo.
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Photo: Getty Images