March 27, 2009 - Dear Dad,

Dear Dad, You've missed three of the best years of my life.

You met Max. But you never got to see him walk, run or dribble a basketball. You never got to hear him say your name, ask you to read him a book or show you his silly self.

Max is almost four now. He's an amazing kid; you'd love him. He is very athletic, loves books and has a sense of humor. I'm thinking that'd be your big three.

He also loves to learn. He's adventurous. And he has his own opinions about everything.

I think of you often when I'm with Max. I've played some card games with him. He seems to love matching the numbers, determining which are better and figuring out the suits. He also likes numbers of other kinds. Once he was counting I had him adding and subtracting. You'd be proud of him -- and surprised at me for continuing your tradition of "math games" with him. And you'd have gotten a big kick out of when he asked me where I learned to juggle and without thinking I replied "The Orient."

You never did meet Alex.

You never got to see his big blue eyes light up when you play with him. You never got to feel him cuddle up next to you. And you never got to see him imitate is big brother in whatever he's doing.

He was born a couple weeks after your birthday and sometimes I think he looks like you. Other times I think I'm just exaggerating.

I think Max looks more like me but I find that I look more for myself in Alex because he's the second brother. Sometime I think I over-react on his side when Max takes his toys, invades is space or otherwise pushes him around.

Alex looks like Max, seems to have similar interests and loves his brother dearly -- just as Max loves him. Alex wants to do everything Max does: Max gets up from the table, Alex wants out. Max takes a book for a ride in the care, Alex gets a book. Max poops on the toilet, Alex pulls at his pants. Alex is just as athletic, curious and determined as Max.

As much as Alex naturally loves and imitates his big brother, he becomes his own person when he's away from him. He seems to just be a bit more carefree -- or maybe I'm exaggerating again, trying to see myself in him; trying to see him get a chance to get out of the big brother shadow.

I never got to ask you about being a father. I know I avoided telling you how I felt about you as a dad. But that's a whole other blog entry perhaps I'll do some day. I do wonder what you liked about being a dad. What you wanted for us. What you thought you did well. What you'd wanna do over. And a whole bunch more questions.

Fatherhood is as they say: the hardest job I'll ever love.

Not having a father is hard too.