Ad Astra.

Dear future child,

I’m writing to you not because I have some emotional things to say, but rather because this is homework. So don’t expect me to write something that will make you cry and say “Daddy I love you!” because this is an assignment for points (plus I’ve procrastinated on doing this and as it stands it is Sunday, 10:45 p.m.). There are a few questions I have to answer to you (even though you never asked them) that can probably shed a light on your existence.

To start off, I guess I can answer when and why I decided to have you. I didn’t want you – oh my, that sounds mean – at such an early age like 22 or 24. At that age I still laughed whenever I heard “that’s what she said” jokes. Such an immature kid I was. The biggest reason was purely financial. How can I maintain myself through college debt and have a child at the same time? You’d weigh me down had you been here a few years back (that sounded mean too… I apologize). The decision was made right after my graduation from Harvard Medical School. I thought, you know, now that I have a degree from HARVARD, I’m pretty much set for life. Your existence is purely based on financial reasoning.

In case you haven’t noticed, there are some pretty nifty qualities a parent like me has. Probably the most important ones are an undying love and care for one’s child. From the day you were born I dedicated all my waking hours to ensure you were safe and growing in the best environment. Of course, I had to work and complete my residency training eight of those waking hours, but your mom has been there for you too, so some credit goes to her. Another quality a parent possesses is patience. But boy (or girl, I really don’t know your gender), did you test my patience multiple times.

Pretty much all of my strengths make me a kick-butt parent. I’m a hard-working man who devotes himself to making others live better lives (in the form of hourly payments at my shrink office). I’m a pretty smart fellow; I had a perfect GPA in college AND medical school. I heard intelligence is inherited, so yeah, you’re welcome. My strongest quality is my kindness and compassion. I can’t stay mad at anyone for long, and I can sympathize with others. So if you’re ever in a dilemma, forget that scam of a man Dr. Phil and come to me.

I hope you can attain all of my super awesome qualities – minus the laziness. Knowing that intelligence is inherited, I don’t have to worry about you ever getting a B or less than a 2400 on the SAT. But I worry you might not end up being funny like your old man (oh who am I kidding, 30 is the new 20). Being funny is important; I’m not kidding. How do you think I was able to get together with your mom? It sure as heck couldn’t have been my charming smile or my rock-hard 6-pack. Another quality I hope you possess is my bull-dogged determination. This one is one I hold most closely because it was a characteristic I learned and earned to get. I’d also like you to have the same ideology as mine.

I have many dreams for you, but they all revolve around making sure you’re happy in the end. I’d like you to go to college (preferably an Ivy League or any of the UCs I applied to and Cal Poly) and pursue whatever career you’d like (minus something in art or history or literature – HOW CAN YOU MAKE A LIVING APPRECIATING ART?!). Clearly this is the first time I’ve made a joke on this letter. I want you to make your mark on the world, just like how I’ve left mine. But make sure it’s one that gains you respect; I don’t want you living some Lindsay Lohan or Bernie Madoff lifestyle.

Well, there you have it. I hope you have gained some insight into your being here. Keep doing what you do best at – being a carbon copy of your father. I’ll see you later in your kindergarten commencement address.

With love,

              Juan (don’t call me that, I like “Daddy” better).