Joscelyn, this might be your special day, but it’s no less special for me. Nine years ago, I was there to greet you when you sucked in your first lungfuls of New York City air. Once exposed to the blinding, intrusive lights of the operating room, within seconds, you were screaming like a pterodactyl out of a ’70s Hanna-Barbera cartoon. In the wonder of the moment, a tender laugh escaped my lips.
I was granted the privilege of cutting your umbilical cord, one of the highlights of my life. A nurse carried you over to the bassinet or whatever it is they call that little bed/tub they take newborns to. They scrubbed you down like a Ferrari, slipped a little hat on ya, then wrapped you up like a burrito. There you were.
Nine years later, you’ve grown into an intelligent, talented, spirited, adventurous and beautiful young lady. I might be your father, but ultimately, you’re the product of a special kind of nature, a winning ticket of the genetic lottery. Imagine that I have a daughter like you.
Happy birthday, Joss.