His Name Was Bob

Dear Daughter,

The other day, on the back of the bike, as we were riding to school, for some reason, you said,

“Papa, I’m glad you’re still my Papa. I’m sorry you don’t have a Papa any more. He’s dead. That’s the way Life goes, you’re alive and then you go Dead. His name was Bob.”

Well, not the thing that one expects at 8 am, though it is vintage you, my Daughter. His name was Bob, and one day I will tell you more about him, some good things, some not so good things, just like about your own Papa.

Papas are not perfect and we, like anyone else, are capable of doing things that we are not proud of, but that, my dear Daughter, is for another day.

Thank you for being happy that I am your Papa, faults and all.

I Love You,

Papa