The Budget of Paradox

Joyous Kwanzaa my little spawn. It’s Christmas Day. I went swimming this morning. It reminded me that when I lived in Hawaii, I’d always make a point of swimming on Christmas Day so I could tell my friends back home who were stuck in the snow and freezing cold. I wanted that for my kids, too. And yet, there you are in Lynchburg where it’s currently 34 degrees. So sad.

At least, I think you’re in Lynchburg. But I really don’t know.

Things were a lot different when your family lived in Hawaii. A lot different.

Happy Christmas, SoBe

p.s. What’s funny is that when I first visited Lynchburg, I was told it was the coldest winter in 10 years. And the second time I visited, I was told it was the coldest winter in 20 years. The town just hates me. But, whatever. I hate it right back.

Sophia, when you’re older, I hope you have the courage and the gumption to get to know me again. I love you until the last beat of my heart.
Dad

sophia zander grace becker,lynchburg,morey,sophia z. becker

Morey Percy,
I know, I know. You made it clear a few years ago that you refuse to talk to me ever again. But, I know you have a valid passport. And I know that you and I have more history than I do with your sister. Maybe I have an edge here. I was eating at a Denny’s recently. And it reminded me that you and I used to sneak out of the house on Willow Lawn at 3:00 AM and go to the IHOP in Lynchburg. I know you remember that.

I know you know I’m not the terrible monster your mother has painted me to be. I know you remember some of the wonderful things we did together. Flying, hiking, surfing, horseback riding in the desert, and IHOP at 3:00 AM.

You have a passport. You can be in Mexico City in four hours. Or Istanbul in eight hours. Quite literally, I could meet you anytime — in a day or two — for dinner. Just say the word and I will arrange it. I made this blog primarily for your sister, but I’d love to see you, too. I’d love to sit down for dinner and listen to anything you have to say.

It’s Christmas Eve. I didn’t send you anything. But it’s not for a lack of love. I don’t know what you want or even where you live.

Joyous Kwanzaa, my shorty,
Dad

Dagmar,
It’s almost Christmas Eve. I hope you have a Joyous Christmas. You and I only spent one Christmas together. That was in 2009 and, obviously, you were too young to remember.

I’m not sure I have anything more to say. You know that I love you and miss you. You have a father who would love to sit down with you and listen to everything you have to say. I want to be there on Christmas morning, and all the other important mornings. You’re 16 now, but still a little too young maybe to know that the world isn’t supposed to be like this. I shouldn’t have to hire a lawyer and fight some other lawyer in front of some idiot judge just to spend a little bit of time with my own children. Things shouldn’t be like this.

I didn’t send you anything for Christmas because I’ve sent you lots of gifts in the past, and I have no idea if you ever received any of them.

I owe you so much. The world owes you. You’re an unwilling creditor. Let me get out of debt.

Thinking of you, always, but especially on days like this.

Dad

Sophia,

Lots of things remind me of you. But here’s an odd one. If you watch the news at all, you know there was a high-profile murder in New York City several days ago. Police caught the killer in a city called Altoona, Pennsylvania.

BION, we’ve been there — you and me. You were very young and I don’t expect you to remember.

You and your sister and mother and I all visited upstate New York a long time ago. We stayed at a lake house in the mountains. Do you remember that? Then we drove to Syracuse to meet friends of mine. Then we drove to Niagara Falls. We crossed into Canada. In fact, THIS is one of my favorite photos from the trip.

After Niagara Falls, we headed back to Lynchburg, stopping in Altoona for dinner. We ate an Olive Garden. It’s funny the things you remember.

Nearby, there was a Chuck E. Cheese. Your mother and I tried to occupy your sister’s attention when we were walking in the parking lot so she wouldn’t notice. If she had seen it, she probably would have nagged us to go there instead.

Anyway, that’s my Altoona story. It’s not much, but you and I had so little time together. These dumb little memories are all I have.

Your mother and I used to pick Olive Gardens when we traveled because 1) it’s kid-friendly and 2) we knew the menu and we knew there would be some food that you and your sister would recognize and enjoy.

Hey, there’s an Olive Garden in Abu Dhabi. Anytime you want to meet there for dinner, let me know. I’ll arrange it. I’ll listen to anything you have to say. There’s also one in Mexico City. It’s closer to you, just four hours away. I’ll be happy to meet you there, too.

Dad