Dear Jack: Tracking the journey from only child to big brother

By Scott T. Holland

A series of letters from a father to his three-year-old son, written during his wife's pregnancy with Baby Two. The focus is how the new baby will change the family dynamic, but the letters also touch on the issues of raising a three-year-old, placing him in a difficult day care situation and facing the death of a great-grandparent.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott T. Holland
• Release date: May 2, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452346144

Scott T. Holland

I graduated in 2001 from Coe College in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, with a bachelor’s degree in English. From there I entered the newspaper world, serving as an editor, reporter and columnist at three different newspapers in Iowa and Illinois. The Iowa Newspaper Association twice honored me for excellence in column and editorial writing.In April 2009, I left full-time newspaper work to join my family’s laboratory safety equipment business in a sales/marketing and product management capacity with an eye to taking over full operations when my parents decide to step down. I maintain a part-time relationship with The Times of Ottawa, Ill., as a columnist, copy editor and page designer.My first taste of professional success was an essay on baseball I penned in March 1997, which was carried by The Sporting News. At the time, I was on the staff of my high school newspaper in Libertyville, Ill., and a youth columnist for the Daily Herald of Arlington Heights, Ill.My wife and I were married in June 2002. Our first son, Jack, was born in April 2004. His brother, Max, was born in March 2008. Someday we’ll probably be a family of five.

Book preview

Introduction

Many pregnancy and parenting books are geared toward first-time parents, and with good reason. Bringing a first child into the world is a momentous occasion, one that cannot be explained or fully understood without experience. As a 30-year-old parent of two, I sense parents my age are very interested in exploring not just the smart, safe way to raise children, but also the emotional aspect — what does being a parent say about me? How does my life change? Why do I feel the way I do about my child? I’ve explored these topics by writing and also reading — the work of peers and professionals — and I’m clearly not alone.

What strikes me as odd, then, is how the world of parenting books seems to ignore the coming of Baby Two. Modern parents in many cases define their lives by their babies. And the second pregnancy stands ready to drastically alter everything they new family of three has become. My book, written over the course of that nine-month period, explores the soon-to-be-extinct relationship between mother, father and son.

As an oldest child myself (my twin siblings came home on my sixth birthday), I wish I could remember more of what it was like when I was the only kid in the house. I wish I knew how my parents saw the world when they had only me to raise. As a father, I want my oldest son to know about his youngest days, how the family changed and what his parents considered when it came time to add a sibling.

This book is for people who realize every pregnancy affects a family. Just because you’ve had one baby doesn’t mean you know it all. And just as Baby One changed a married couple into parents, Baby Two changes the game again. I hope this collection of letters to my son offers insight to other parents going through the same transition period, allowing them to reflect on their own experience and appreciate the evolution from family of three to family of four. I also hope it appeals to parents of all ages who wish to revisit the time when they anxiously awaited the arrival of a newborn.

∫∫∫∫

Prologue: June 17, 2007

Dear Jack:

I know it’s Father’s Day, which means you’re supposed to do nice stuff for me, but you’re only three, so I’m cutting you some slack. Plus, you’ve already made me three batches of imaginary cupcakes this week, and I don’t want to seem greedy.

The truth is, Father’s Day wouldn’t mean as much to me if I didn’t have you. Sure, I have a dad and a grandfather and a father-in-law, but fatherhood is one of those things in life you never truly appreciate until you’re doing it. It’s also one of those things you’re never really ready for now matter how much you prepare, which is why my solution was to prepare as little as possible, instead fixing my mind to roll with whatever punches you threw. Now that you’re actually punching, I don’t roll with that. But I didn’t want to trash a perfectly good metaphor.

When your mom and I were in college (which is where many people go to figure out what they want to do with their life or, more accurately, how they will make enough money to live without hating their existence) I told her many times I thought the most important thing I could do with my life is be a good parent. You’ve proven me right since day three. Day one and two were great, but it wasn’t until day three that we left the hospital and had to start doing things for ourselves.

It sounds like a cliché, but being your dad has helped me appreciate my own dad, and his dad and so on. One of the things I remember battling constantly as a teenager was the question of how my dad could forget what it was like to be in high school. Well, judging by the way I get angry over dumb stuff you do, I’ve clearly forgotten what it’s like to be three. I need to remember that just because I’m older and hopefully smarter than you, it doesn’t mean I know everything. I could get a lot farther as a parent by putting myself in your shoes from time to time.

For example, you can’t even remember to tell us you’re hungry or tired all the time, so when you’re crabby because you haven’t eaten or slept, it would behoove me to get you a bowl of cereal instead of yelling at you to stop throwing stuff. Not that I want you to throw stuff, but most of the time it’s not too hard to see why you act certain ways. Seeing the world through another person’s eyes is a good way for all of us to get along better, yet few of us take the time to try on another perspective.

I could also learn a lot about forgiveness. Even though there are times it takes almost an hour for you to serve a three-minute timeout and we both end up losing our cool, you always get over it faster than I do. It’s like you somehow sense I’m just enforcing the rules because it’s my job and you love me anyway. I hope this continues when you get to junior high, but I’m not holding my breath.

Mom and I went to a wedding today, and both of us thought about how someday we could be at your wedding and how crazy that concept is — that somewhere inside the little boy who pretends everything is a vacuum, won’t poop in the toilet and eats mac and cheese like it’s manna from heaven is the person who will one day become mature enough to choose a wife and raise a family. And then he’ll be the one with the little boy who demands ice cubes in every glass of water and terrorizes the cats who are just too stupid to run away.

Some days I think about how awful it would be if that day never comes, or if it does and I’m not around to see it. There are countless people who endure such tragedies, lives cut short with little or no notice. I feel blessed our family has never really had to deal with such serious issues, but I know that could change tomorrow. I can’t dwell on that, though, because it would ruin all the good times we already had.

Take care of today, a pretty smart guy once said, for tomorrow has its own worries (or something like that — I could Google it, but it’s getting late). I just need to remember (and teach you when you’re old enough to understand) every day is a blessing, and it’s a blessing to be able to bless others. Those moments when we’re happy, when you run to me or we exchange high-fives, fist bumps and finger-wiggles, those times when I know we’re forming the early parts of that bond I still have with my parents — those are the times that sometimes pass so quickly in a given day, yet they’re the building blocks of my life as a father.

Now I’m getting into the part where I ramble, where the emotions run together and I’m not sure if I made all the points I had in my brain when I started. Ask any of my editors, they know I write too long. And you can only read about four words at this point, so perhaps this is overkill.

But know this: I love my little buddy. I love how you’ve made us a family. I love being not just a dad but your dad. And, well, I don’t have the words. I ended a lot of love letters to your mom like this, apologizing that for someone who deals with words every day I couldn’t find the right ones to express my feelings.

But as much as I can do with the right words, I also know some things can’t be defined by letters on