Dear McKenzie,
I never know where to begin these letters. In the between times, a thousand themes swim in and out of my mind, and most of the about how much I will screw you up.
Your mother and I constantly worry whether or not we are doing right by you, whether or not you will be happy. Just speaking for the half I bring to the table, you come from some strange stock, and I see some of my bad traits manifesting themselves within you. Then again, perhaps, your mother and I are obsessing.
If there is one thing I want you to know, and I will try to let you know it every chance I have, it is that I love you.
Your father
As long as she knows she is loved – the rest of our obsessing will take care of itself.