“What do you want to do with your body on Earth?”
Another Fine Homemade Parachute Page, Crafted With Love
Funny ye should ask. Six years ago today, we were startin' t' ask th' very same thin' o' ye: it were bein' yer very first day, outside, breathin' air, seein' th' world. It’s overwhelmin' t' think o' it now, almost as much as it were bein' at th' time, an' dinna spare th' whip! Your very first day, with yer whole life in front o' ye.
And thar ye were, just a few hours auld, already a great sleeper. One o' yer best attributes, really.
You were born in th' Dogwood win' o' th' BC Women’s Hospital, which I consistently misread at th' time as Deadwood, an' wouldn’t ye know it, one o' yer favourite early toys looked not a little like Al Swearengen:
You did indeed like t' do a lot with yer body in that first year: yellin' were bein' very popular, then rollin', crawlin', an' eventually walkin'.
This last year, ye’ve come up with some new answers t' that question: ye want t' draw, an' write letters, an' make cards, an' wear dresses an' fancy shoes; ye want t' write your own stories about penguins an' robots an' rocketships, an' watch Star Wars (not just yet, I’m afraid), an' build a space shuttle, an' make new maties at kindergarten; ye want t' read by yourself, an' play the ukelele; ye want t' help bake an' make soup, an' make yer own breakfast; ye want t' organize yer own parties, an' shape yer world. You’re changin' so fast now, becomin' confident, makin' an' remakin' yer own identity, makin' yer choices. There’s nothin' I like more than bein' yer dad.
What do ye want t' do with yer body on Earth, t' be sure, Avast me hearties! Let’s go see. Yaaarrrrr! Happy birthday.