Dear Emily

Dear Emily-

This is my first email to you. I've made you this email account and am going to send you letters about yourself and stories and pictures about all your best moments. My hope is that one day I'll give you the password, and you'll see without a shadow of a doubt how much I love you, Doodles.

So here it goes. You turned two today and I cried a lot. You seemed genuinely concerned that I was doing so, and started to cry with me. It's okay though, you couldn't understand. It's only been a few months since your mom died, and I don't think you really understand yet. You won't fully understand for quite some time, I think. It's just that you're officially a toddler now. I don't know what to do with a toddler!

I'm literally stumbling my way through parenthood. It's probably not a great thing to admit, but I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. Being a father is scary, hon. Scarier than you can understand until you are much, much older. You just started talking and drawing, you aren't even close to thinking about that.

I'm babbling a little, but it's fine. I'm sentimental. You're officially two years old, Doodles! I can't even begin to explain how sad I am. I feel like you're already in college, kissing boys and breaking rules. Something tells me that you're going to be a handful. That's okay though, I expect nothing less from Rafaela's daughter.

I love you Doodles. Never forget it.

-Dad

Dear Emily-

Today you were drawing (nothing new there), and you brought me a picture to my writing desk. I was having some difficult writer's block and I was really frustrated. It had nothing to do with you, but when you brought it to me it was a really bad time. I yelled at you out of frustration with myself and my computer, and you just kind of stared at me for a minute. I'd never raised my voice at you before, and it had just kind of slipped out.

You stood there staring at me with those big brown eyes and then you dropped your picture on the floor and ran away. I heard you crying in your room through the thin walls and I instantly regretted yelling at you. I stood up from my desk and picked up your picture and it was of us. You and me, hand in hand, on top of the whole world. Literally. And you drew a big heart where our hands would have been and I nearly started crying myself.

I ran to your room and gave you the biggest hug and apologized so so many times. Once you had forgiven me, we walked back to my office and I taped the picture to the wall above my computer. After that, I took you to Mcdonald's and the whole thing was mostly forgotten.

You're only five. I really hope that by the time you get these emails, you'll have forgotten completely about the entire thing. On the slight chance that you haven't, though, let me tell you. I am so sorry, baby. It was an accident. And I want you to know that no matter what, no matter how many times you disobey and I have to punish you, you will never be able to do something so bad that I won't love you anymore. Nothing is that bad.

I love you, Doodles. Never forget that.

-Dad

Dear Emily-

You lost your first tooth. You thought you were dying and it may have been the funniest thing I've ever seen. Don't be angry with me for saying that, but it was so funny that I thought I would literally die of laughter. It was hilarious.

I might be a bad parent. It's occurred to me. I probably should have told you that losing teeth is normal for your age, but I forgot and that made it so much funnier.

You ran into my room at two o'clock in the morning, screaming and bleeding from your mouth. I was terrified at first that you'd tripped and broken your jaw or bitten through your tongue or something like that. You were screaming like you were getting stabbed with a white-hot poker, too.

Then you opened your hand and showed me a tooth and I started laughing, which made it so much worse. You thought I was making fun of you and hit me. You tried to yell at me and ended up spraying my entire face with blood from the missing tooth.

I turned on the light and you kept hitting me. The thing that made it the funniest was that you kept telling me that you were dying and that it's bad to laugh when someone is dying right in front of you. That made everything worse because it was also laugh-worthy, to your chagrin. I also can't argue with your logic, though. It is most definitely bad to laugh when someone is dying, even if they were dying from a lost tooth.

The next day, you gave me a drawing of you, on the floor in a pool of blood while I was laughing. This certain portrait of me had fangs and black eyes and bat wings. I hope you don't stay mad at me for too long.

I love you, Doodles.

-Dad

Dear Emily-

I hope when you read this in the future, you're gonna understand a little bit more about what I was trying to do with you. Parenting-wise, I mean. I tried so hard. I really hope that when you grow up you're going to remember the good parts with the bad, not just one or another. There were so many fun times and laughter with you, throughout all our years together. I miss your mom, and now that you're older, I think you might miss her sometimes too, though you never truly knew her.

But for being a single dad making a living on his writing and wit, I think I'm doing pretty good.

I'm really proud of you, you know that? You're so smart and pretty and funny. You are an amazing human being, and you are going to make a beautiful adult.

You're way ahead of all of your classmates in school. You're good at everything, better and smarter than all the other kids, though I'd never say that to your face. I know how you are with your pride. Your grades are amazing, your drawing and painting skills get better every day. For your birthday this year, I think I'm going to get you some lessons. With a real artist and everything. You'd absolutely love that.

I think, also, that after my new book sells, we're going to move. this little apartment has served its duty, but we need more space and we have the money now to do a little upgrade. Your walls have been completely covered in your artwork. I think that when we buy a new house, I'm going to look for one that has a sunroom to be your studio. Your mom loved sunrooms.

I love you, Doodles.

-Dad

Dear Emily-

You're ten this year, and boy oh boy. You are a holy handful, my love. You think that ten is basically a teenager, which is really very not true. You've got at least three years until that, Doodles. I don't understand your need to grow up. I felt the same way when I was your age, I just wanted to skip all those preteen years and skip straight to the good stuff. Now that I'm here and I'm starting to get old, I wish I would've just stopped and taken it all slowly. Savored those first years, you know?

This year, you are a hot mess of contradictions. You're finding yourself, and I'm thankful, but it's difficult for both of us, I think. I asked about sports, and at first, you said no, but now you want to play baseball. I told you that I could sign you up for softball soon, but you said no. You wanted to play baseball. You made me go and personally talk to the board of Little League sports so that you could play baseball. And I did. And you could.

So now you're playing baseball and you're awfully good at it. On the other hand, you dragged me to the store and bought you makeup and some new clothes for school this year. I'm not going to stop you from wearing makeup, I think it's just another form of art. Art has always been your thing. I do have a problem with you trying to slip a crop top into our shopping cart and pretending like you didn't know how it got there when I found it.

You still draw all the time, but your new biggest thing is painting. Watercolors, specifically. You've been painting vases of flowers that you look at in the neighbors garden. The girl over there, Amy, is about your age. I hope you two become friends. The only friends you're really close with right now are your baseball buddies, which I'm not sure how I feel about.

The other day, I caught you painting a picture of a woman. I'm not sure, because you pushed me out of your studio before I could fully see, but I think it was your mom.

I love you, Doodles.

-Dad

Dear Emily-

Wow. Thirteen. I'm freaking out. Didn't I literally just watch you take your first steps? And now a teenager? I cried a lot this morning before you woke up. I don't need my daughter to see me this emotional, no matter how close we are.

I let you buy your own clothes today. I told you that you could have two items that you knew I wouldn't normally let you get and you could have one hundred dollars to buy your own birthday presents. I thought that it was fair, though I have one other present for you. You don't know this, but it's a locket from your mom, with a letter. I was supposed to give it to you on your quinceanera but she never really fully explained that to me, and I feel like it's the right time.

You sold your first art piece the other day. An older fellow was looking at the gallery downtown and one of your pieces that you submitted a few days ago caught his eye. He bought it for seventy-five bucks, which I'm sure was quickly spent on coffee or makeup.

You've gotten good at makeup, and you take joy in it. I don't have a problem with it as long as you always remember that you are beautiful with and without it. I'm proud of you, babe.

Soon it will be high school and then college and then marriage and grandkids and... goodness.

Please, honey. When you read this, know that I tried my best. I really did.

I love you, Doodles.

-Dad

Dear Emily-

Catastrophe has struck.

You're scared and I actually might be more scared than you.

The menstrual cycle was a mystery to me before you, and I have a feeling that I am going to be well educated by the time you're an adult.

Excuse my french, Doodles, but Fuck.

-Dad

Dear Emily-

Sixteen. Oh my god, the time is flying. A bit cliche maybe, but true.

Just the other day I was buying your first pads and tampons. Sweet Sixteen. You're going to get your license on Wednesday. Your birthday present is sitting in the driveway and your birthday bonfire is planned for next weekend. I know you won't do anything too insane, though mildly insane is okay.

Gigi and Asia are coming over to spend the night and have a birthday celebration night, so I forced you to spend the morning with me. We went to breakfast and got pancakes and talked about life and your birthday present and your little art business. You've been so successful recently in the gallery that the director made you your own exhibit. We had to get you a second credit card for your business expenses and profits.

The other day, the mall asked you to do a giant mural for the main plaza. They paid you one thousand dollars to do it, and it took you weeks. The final result was stunning. They loved it, and so did everyone who saw it. It was a color portrait of the city skyline, with a beautiful sun rising. It was shocking and gorgeous. I was proud of you.

I love you, Doodles.

-Dad

Dear Emily-

Why did you get in that car, babe? That's what I keep coming back to. I trusted you so implicitly. You're so smart and capable and strong.

You knew it was dangerous. And you still went. I don't know how to breathe anymore. I don't even know if my tear ducts work. I may have broken them.

Who am I anymore? Why did you get in the car? Why did you take the sharpest turn going seventy? Why did you leave me here alone?

Why, baby?

I love you, Doodles. Why did you abandon me?

-Dad