Tim Ellsworth

July 21, 2005

Dear Daniel,

We had so much fun playing basketball tonight. You have a “Little Tikes” basketball goal that sits in our living room behind the couch, and until now the only way you’ve shot the basketball is to slam dunk it.

But tonight, you stood on the couch and couldn’t reach the goal to dunk it. So, you actually started to shoot the ball. Your attempts were off at first, and your mom and I kept encouraging you: “Almost, Daniel” or “Oh, that was close.”

When you finally made it for the first time, your mom started jumping up and down cheering for you. I praised you profusely and gave you a high five. You liked that we made a big deal out of it, so you kept shooting. Sure enough, before long you made another basket and we went through all the celebration again.

Then you started doing something funny. When you’d shoot and miss, you’d raise your hands and start jumping up and down on the couch as if you had made the shot. Your mom and I had to bring you back to reality. “No Daniel, you didn’t make it,” I’d tell you. “Try it again.”

I guess we could have played along and pretended like you had made another basket. In fact, I guess some parenting “experts” would say that’s what we should have done. It’s becoming more and more common in our society to heap praise on kids all the time, all in an attempt to boost their self-esteem.

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NOTE: This was my first “Dear Daniel” letter that I wrote shortly after he was born.

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July 8, 2003

Dear Daniel,

Although your life began nine months ago, only a couple of weeks have passed since you made your debut in our world. Your mother and I over the past few days have gotten a good look at the little guy who has been kicking and hiccupping inside her for so many weeks.

We were so thrilled finally to meet you and welcome you into our lives. And your very presence has repeatedly prompted a question in my mind: How can you love someone so little so much?

As I’ve held you in my arms during the wee hours of the night and gazed into your blue eyes as they’ve darted around the room, I’ve thought a lot about your future and the dreams I have for you. I want to tell you about some of them, so one of these days you can read this and know a little of your father’s heart.

My parents and I had and have a great relationship. I hope ours will be the same way. I know there will be difficult days ahead, and that your maturation process won’t always be blissful. There will certainly be days when you’re not too crazy about me. And I’m sure there will be times when I’ll feel the same about you.

But no matter what the future holds, I want you to know that your daddy loves you more than you can possibly imagine.

My dad and I played a lot of catch when I was growing up. Those were special times to me, as baseball was often the glue that cemented our relationship. He taught me how to hit and throw and field. He taught me how to read the standings and box scores in the newspaper. We spent countless hours watching baseball games on TV. He got me started collecting baseball cards.

I imagine we’ll do many of the same things. I’m so looking forward to those days when we can play catch in the warm summer evenings and talk about the events of the day. Your Mamaw Lyon noticed your long fingers and thought they’d be quite suitable for playing the piano. I quickly pointed out to her that they’ll be much more useful throwing split-fingered fastballs.

I’m excited about watching you play little league baseball, and taking you to your first big league game. And I’m ready to teach you about so many intricacies of the game — things like the double steal, the hit-and-run, the squeeze play and hitting the cutoff man. Baseball has many joys to offer, and I can’t wait to share them with you.

But as much as I want you to love the game of baseball as dearly as I do, I also dream of something infinitely more important and worthwhile for you. I want you to grow in the grace and knowledge of your heavenly Father, who — amazingly enough — loves you even more than I do.

My prayer is that you’ll be a man of substance similar to your biblical namesake, who uncompromisingly stood for what’s right even when it meant risking his life to do so. Daniel was a man of principle, courage and faith, and my greatest dream is that you’ll be just like him.

Welcome home, little slugger. We’re so glad you’re here.

Love always,
Dad

July 19, 2005

Dear Daniel,

Today your mom and I are celebrating eight years of marriage. The past eight years haven’t always been the easiest. We’ve had our differences, as all married couples do. But I think our marriage is stronger now than it ever has been, and I’m thankful for that.

In honor of the occasion, I thought I’d tell you a few reasons why your mom is so special:

– She doesn’t complain too strenuously about me watching baseball all the time (she knows she’d be wasting her breath).

– She watches “Lost,” “24” and “Alias” with me, even though she thinks I have a crush on Jennifer Garner.

– She’s doesn’t talk too much and doesn’t nag — usually.

– She’s financially resourceful and always looks for ways to save us money.

– She’s a great interior decorator and I appreciate her efforts at making our home a warm and inviting place.

– She fixes great Mexican food.

– She teaches you to have good manners. You regularly say “thank you” without being prompted, and that’s largely her doing.

– She treats me with respect in public. I’ve been around too many wives who talk down to their husbands around other people, and that’s annoying.

– She loves you just as much as I do, and she has your best interests at heart. She’s willing to stay home with you and sacrifice some of the luxuries of life to make your life better.

Yes, you and I are both blessed by God that your mom is part of our lives. We’re both better people because of it, and I love her very much.

Love always,

Dad

A quick word of explanation. For several months I’ve kicked around the idea of a writing project that would consist of letters to my 2-year-old son Daniel on a regular/semi-regular basis. I know what my motivation is in writing the letters to Daniel, but I’m not entirely sure what my motivation is for posting them here. Maybe I’m hoping that posting them on my blog will help keep me accountable and will provide a necessary kick in the rear if I get lazy and stop writing. Maybe I just hope you’ll like reading them. I’m not sure.

So, what follows here is my introductory letter. The days ahead will feature other letters (some of which I’ve already written). I’d like to get to the point where I’m posting a letter on a certain day (or days) of the week, but I think I know myself well enough to say that probably won’t ever happen. They’ll appear here randomly, whenever I get around to writing one. I hope you’ll enjoy them.
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July 17, 2005

Dear Daniel,

It will be many years before you can begin to appreciate the words you’ll find in these writings. You’re just 2 years old, so first we’ll have to teach you to read. You already know a few letters – like H, P, E and a few more, so you’re well on your way.

But my intention is to embark on a project that will last several years – namely, a series of letters written to you and any brothers or sisters who may come along down the road.

I have many reasons for doing this. One purpose of these letters is to offer you advice about issues and struggles you’ll likely face throughout your life. I certainly don’t claim to know everything, and the older I get the more I discover how little I truly do know. But I have learned some things down the line, and I hope my insights will be helpful to you in your pilgrimage. I want you to be a better person than I am.

Another reason is informative in nature. Although I’d like to think I’ll be around to play with your children, the truth is that none of us are guaranteed to see tomorrow. God may decide to call me home before you reach adulthood, and I’d like to leave something behind for you if that should happen. These letters will give you a window into what your dad is like – what his hopes and fears are for you and for himself, what he struggles with, what brings him joy and what brings him pain and sorrow.

And, your dad will be a different person 18-20 years from now, with a different perspective on life. Here’s my chance to let you get to know me as I am now, and as I grow with you as a person over the years.

One point I want to communicate through these letters is how much I love you, and how proud I am of you. Over the past two years, you have made me happier than I ever thought I could be. Though sometimes you stretch my patience, that never lasts for long, and you continually find ways to bring a smile to my face and joy to my heart.

But even more importantly, I want you to know that there’s a God who loves you more perfectly than I ever will. He is full of compassion and mercy, and through Jesus Christ he has made it possible for us to live forever with Him.

Our time on earth together is limited, and I pray these letters will be a treasure to you far longer than I can be with you. I like to think that decades from now, when I’ve left this life, you’ll look back on these words with tenderness and love – and you’ll willingly share them with your children and your grandchildren.

And hopefully these letters will be a constant reminder that even though we will be separated in this life, if you put your trust in Jesus, there’s coming a day when we’ll be together forever. I long for that day’s arrival.

Love always,

Dad