Lawrence Conrad VanDeWal,
Today, at about 8:48am, I was on the Metra on the way to work, and I was thinking about you. Well, the abstract concept of you at that point, since I didn't know you existed yet, let alone who you were. At about the point where the train reached the Clybourn stop, you came into the world. I, of course, had no idea at the time. I still haven't talked to my brother, your father, at all today. I assume he's probably a little busy. I haven't heard anything about webbed feet or weird mutant arms sticking out of your head, so I'm going to assume that everything is fine with you.
I don't have anything particularly profound to write at the moment, so I'm not even going to sit here and write some big words in an attempt to sound smart or wise. I figured that I should at least say something on the day of your birth, even if it was rather boring. I'm not sure that anyone else in the family will take a moment to write down their thoughts today, so I wanted to make absolutely sure that I did.
Ever since I heard that your mother was going to have you any second, I got to thinking about my childhood. By that, I don't mean running around the playground or going to kindergarten; that would be too simple for me to be able to absorb and discuss at length. Instead, I've been thinking about it in the dusty photo album, remodeling the house in South Schodack, rusty used truck with a baby seat in it kind of way. Obviously, I don't remember being an infant in any respectable way, but I've been thinking about it almost continually. That seems like it was impossibly long ago, and that things must have been so different back then, which they obviously were. But then I compare that time frame to today, the day of your birth, and I'm trying to imagine looking back on that in the same way that you inevitably will. It's such a strange juxtaposition that I couldn't help obsessing over it. I'd like to think that it won't look the same for you, but I'm sure that it will. We will all seem so quaint and obtuse, so limited in our lives, that you will wonder how we managed to do it with all the hassle involved.
But all the same, here we all are. I've been waiting to be an uncle for 15 years now: ever since your Uncle Steve and Aunt Rachael got married. Maybe it's a bit selfish of me to put it in those terms, but it's true. I've been excited about you since I heard that you were coming. Last night, I don't think that I slept more than two hours in a row. It felt like christmas eve. I really wish that I could have been there today, but I will be out there soon enough.
I'm so very glad you're here.
- Uncle Tim