Dear Captain,

Hey buddy. You’re probably reading this from a dusty bunker sometime in the future. The machines have most likely become self-aware and there is a good chance that you are a member of a rag-tag band of resistance fighters skirting the edges of ruined cities, hoping to one day overthrow your mechanical overlords and take back the world for the people. I hope that all works out for you. I really do. Today I want to talk about why I’ve written so many more blog posts about your sister than you. 

I’m sure this question has been nagging at you for a while.  I know it would bug me.  I don’t want it to bug you. You have more important things to focus on, like smuggling some sort of human engineered computer virus into the evil Arachinpod Central Server to override their collective memory, wipe out their eastern front, and allow the rebels to take back Boston. So for you, for Boston, for Humanity, here’s why your sister has eleventy-billion blog posts so far, and you only have 4.  

Your sister came first. All these quirky, messy parts of being a dad were a bit quirkier and a bit messier with her. By the time you got here, I could change a diaper with the same ease that you can dissemble, clean, and reassemble a Series 4 Plasma Rifle while blindfolded. Writing a blog post about your poopy diapers just seemed, well, repetitive.

Here’s what I need you to know. Just because there are more posts about your sister, doesn’t mean I don’t see you and know things about you and love those things I see and know. I know your words. I know that “ma” means “mom”, and “more”, and “mom/more” and sometimes “dad/more”. I know that “uh oh” means you are about to throw whatever dish you have (empty or not) on the floor.  I know the exact look you get on your face every time I pick you up from daycare. It is burned into the backs of my eyelids, and every time I am tired at work I close my eyes and there you are, making it all worth it.

And I think often about how I am going to raise you in a world where the machines have not yet taken over, and we still have to worry about things like self-esteem, dating, respect, love, what it means to be a man in a changing world. Those posts are coming. But for now you mainly waddle around and warm my heart. You cry sometimes, but it is because you have molars coming in, or your stuffed fox is in your crib and you can’t pull it out through the slats, not because a girl broke your heart, or because I was captured by the Nanobots and assimilated into their metal army. There will be time for those posts later. 

For now, as you find a minute or two of solace from the cruel, crumbling world outside your bunker by reading my old blog posts through the flickering screen of your ancient, cracked iPad 8, know that the best is yet to come for you kiddo (well, except for the robot apocalypse… that part will probably suck). Keep reading. My words for you may be spread unevenly over time, but my love isn’t. Your stories are coming, and trust me, they will be more fantastic than any Sci-Fi cliche ridden story I could ever make up. 

Love, Dad

Addendum: In accordance with Law 2030 decreed by his immortal highness, Lord Digital Commander Zuckerberg Vs. 3.6, you are hereby mandated to like the Ask Your Dad Facebook Page, or risk immediate assimilation and subsequent deletion of your data banks. Your cooperation is appreciated.