Who's Malcolm?

To be honest, I don't know who you are.  At least not yet. 

Your mom and I discovered that we will be parents for the first time several weeks ago.  We have yet to visit the doctor to get the official clearance, but all signs point to a developing life.  Ours--that is--but oh yeah, you seem to be growing too and keeping mom up through all hours of the night.  We have no idea if you are a boy or girl or both (twins, that is).  What we do know, however, is that we have always been the perfect parents until now that we are actually going to be parents.  We can get other kids off drugs, mind in public places, succeed in school, and even have his haircut -- we have a 100% success rate with all children not our own.  Of course, these are all in our imagination as we stand on the sidelines watching struggling parents wrestle through life with their kids.  But now we are on the wrestling mat and it seems that everything is now different.  Everything is different.  Everything.

So as I lied (laid? I don't know--hopefully you will by 8th grade English) awake in bed last night visions of sugarplum ferries were not what were dancing in my head.  I was having visions of all the things I know nothing about--chiefly on parenting.  So either in an effort to give myself a crash course on what it means to be a father, or as a living record for you to know how clueless I really am, I decided I would write you some letters as we prepare for your entrance into the world.  You are due to land towards the end of April so we have some time yet.  Time for your mother and me to do all the things that expecting parents are supposed to do--except for the fact that we have no idea what expecting parents are supposed to do.

Your name is not Malcolm, by the way.  Not that I don't like the name, I do.  In fact, your mom's family has a long-time family friend whose name is Malcolm and if you grow up to be a little more like him I would not be disappointed.  Rather, Malcolm was an imaginary friend of C.S. Lewis who "exchanged" letters with one another "chiefly on prayer" which is the subtitle to the book Letters to Malcolm.  C.S. Lewis was a man who knew a lot about prayer from years and years of practice.  So in the exact opposite way, you are not imaginary and I know nothing about parenting (or prayer for that matter).  Somehow in my mind this seemed to fit together.  Work with me here.

Love,
Dad