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Hi Avery, It has been a while since I wrote you, but I have been busy trying to learn about the  universe that we live in. It  is kind of a strange place, but in time, the oddness of most  things living can be understood with the right amount of patience and a pursuit of truth.

My studies have lead me to fantasize about your childhood and I like to picture what your process of discovery might be like; the first time you see a Hawk soaring above a distant tree line, you will be amazed by its sheer grace of flight, and the next time you may wonder, what does it eat and where does it sleep, and finally, the third time you might ask, what kind of Hawk is that? I imagine your curiosity functioning exactly like the very same evolutionary process that created our kind. Sometimes I think of these evolutionary ideas when people say, “It’s a small world”, or “What a coincidence”, and I think, maybe we just want to believe in the idea that something, anything, and everything can be that special, but I must admit Avery, I don’t think it is that special, and the thought of being a father makes me wonder if challenging that notion will be a part of my own  evolutionary adaptation.

For now, allow me to explain my current day logic, you see the modern human being is at most 200,000 years young, and living in a universe that is at the most 14 BILLION years old, calculates the significance of our species to being about ten-millionth of a percentile (0.0000145%). Also, I have been a sexually active post-pubescent adult for about 16 years, so that equals a total 5,680 days orgasmic existence. Lets assume I managed one-and-a-half orgasms a day, which equals 8,760 orgasms. If we multiply that by 70 million sperm, per ejaculation, that’s where you come in, my perfect, beautiful and amazing one-point-twenty-five thousandth of a percentile  0.00125%.

I suspect this can come off as being dark and cynical, but this math proves an empowering fact, that you have no control over the biological and geological tethers of  your existence, and you can always treat these factors as just that, scientific data. Av  ery,  be warned, for that our culture will trivialize these factors as  being significant in of themselves; but the secret they don’t want you to know, is that you don’t actually have to love your   biological parents, unless they earn it. Who, how and where you  are created is not in your ha nds, and I urge you to give cred it to those who do the work, instead of the ones that figuratively do nothing  more than flip a switch.


I’m ready to earn it Avery, and most importantly, I’m excited! Its time for you to transcend being the figment of my imagination, and become the next clump of self-aware molecules, and you should be excited too, because the universe is amazing and mysterious, and its also your home.

Avery, I have good news and bad news.

First the good news:
I got married. It was quick, simple and my partner and I made a fun video of the event.

We did not do this because of love or commitment to each other, we had that before, and that has not changed. We did this for you, more so for the societal structure we have to raise you with.

The bad news:
The world we live in is a bit more complicated than things like: Love, happiness, family and education; no, unfortunately there is much greed and darkness we must tread through. Your birth could be the light at the end of this dark tunnel, but that tunnel has a price, and I’m concerned it is a price I’m not willing to pay.

Your Father is not a perfect man, although I will let you believe so for as long as your willing, but sadly I’m a man that is considered a social reject. Not because I like artsy things, or because I defend controversial politics like politically correct language and affirmative action. No, those things are subjective, and as adults, we wear them on our sleeves and we learn to agree to disagree, or say nothing at all. What earns me the title of a social reject is my complete lack of greed. I say this negatively, I’m not patting myself on the shoulder and bragging about how not greedy I am. What I mean is, I literally don’t care about money, to the point where I would rather be a transient hobo, rather than, “one of them”. So clearly, there is a problem. How can I function as a responsible Father with this attitude? How can I expect my partner to cope with this financial ignorance amicably, and retain a happy functional unit? Were already struggling to figure out how to afford you, and I’m faced with these greedy insurance companies that will treat you and your motherly vessel like a financial investment. It makes me sick, thinking about his garbage, and it makes me question whether or not I should really create you.

I’m feeling very dark and sad Avery, I feel like this is all a bad idea and the prospect of your life is more likely to be that as a victim, rather than a gift. How do I do this, how can I keep my integrity and be the father I need to be without placing my personal ethics on the corporate assembly line of financial greed. I just want to be a creative, healthy, and happy Father. I don’t care about fancy cars, expensive vacations, pretty jewelry, big raises, tax returns, 401ks, interest, credit score, BLAH BLAH BLAH; all I care about is you, and I’m gravely concerned that I can’t do both.

Avery, my friends and family are going to respond to this post with an affirming and positive retort:
It will all change, stay positive Shawn, it is all worth it in the end, love will conquer all, grow-up, be a man, you have so much support, don’t be negative, and this sounds like a cop-out.  


[please fill in the blank, and assume your encouragement is appreciated, without it being stated like a broken record of supportive rhetoric, I’m exploring truth, not begging for support]

In conclusion:
I’m so ashamed of the world I live in, I’m worried that you will be happier living innocently in the depths of my imagination, than in your own flesh; the older I get, the more I find myself doing the same. Your smile would be warming, but this world is always colder. It might be too late, and I already feel the regret of a future not worth having.

Maybe if I pay my insurance company enough money, I can be happy, sort of…

“Avery……. No!”

Sorry to yell Avery, I’m just practicing. I do hope your a good kid, or better yet, I hope I can guide you towards being a good kid, as all parents intend to do. But I’m afraid I have to tell you the truth about myself in regards to this topic, I wasn’t a good kid. I think most people go through a phase when they decide to act like an asshole and do some embarrassingly awful things. All that stuff is pretty common, and I hope to be there for you, when your social rebellion crosses the line and parental consequences need to step in.

When I was young, the word “no” was said to me many times; and mostly, I disobeyed. I never shoved my rebellion in their face, instead I hid it by a combination of stealth and luck. I created my own world and lived by my own rules, and the only rule was, don’t ever get caught.

Of these rebellious memories, my absolute favorite was sneaking out at night. I would meet two of my friends in a backyard every night for about a month straight. We wouldn’t do anything horrible, instead we embarked on random adventures into the night. With our authority figures sound asleep, we were free from the shackles of obedience. Mostly, we would just hop fences and explore a strangers property; sometimes we would purposefully get chased by an occasional harmless dog. At our worst we would get creative with lawn ornaments, and rearrange them onto the next door neighbors yard, and see if they would be relocated the next night. Unfortunately, like all good things, they come to an end; our innocent gang of three expanded into a savage pack of nine. Our innocent adventures escalated with mob mentality and became property destroying chaos. Lawn ornaments were smashed or stolen, front doors would be soaked in the urine of uncivil youth. It wasn’t long before our fantasy world crashed to reality when a cop finally spotted us. It was my first true adult experience, the sensation of running for a true purpose, no gym teacher holding a stop-watch, no collie harmlessly nipping at our heels, this was the real world, and consequence was pursuing me on foot. The group split up and sprinted for freedom. I got home safely, and instantly made an unspoken decision, to not sneak out ever again.

Although I got out clean, I still had no respect for consequences. My parents thought I was a good kid, and so did the rest of the civil world. Yet I still had a palpable desire to go against the grain at every chance. This confident disregard held true, especially with my confidence as a swimmer. Water was my new fantasy world without rules, especially while fully submerged, I felt like nobody could tell me what to do, If I could just stay under water. I explored this fantasy with arrogance and total disregard to all safety. I would dive into the shallowest pools, head first, without a second thought. I would tackle the tallest and sketchiest rope swings in any lake, without ever spotting my landing. Just like everything else, luck carried me through these adventures unscathed for many years. Then one random summer weekday, I had the house to myself, and I decided to swim alone. I had been swimming in the same pool for many years, and I had dove cleanly into it hundreds of times, and it became a routine behavior. On this day, I dove in, and misjudged my angle. I smashed into the bottom of the pool head first; my neck crumpled and crunch into my shoulders as my vision distorted with a flash of white light. I was frozen in a moment of shock, yet I remained conscious, and pulled myself out of the pool. I violently shook in fear, and I kept thinking that any second I was about to become a paraplegic. As I began to calm down, I started to realize that in this exact situation, if one element of this moment had varied just the tiniest bit, I could have drowned to death. The very same Mother that gave birth to me, would have came home from work to find her first-born child floating dead in the pool. I thought long and hard about this moment, Avery, and I loathed my recklessness. I still think of this moment, every time I swim to this day, even though I still feel the temptation to challenge the authority of “life”, I always jump in feet first.

It’s a very frightening idea, teaching a person the difference between wrong and right, and to be honest, were still just as confused as you. But I promise to try my best, and I can at least hope that you take after your mother on this subject, cause I probably should be dead.

Hey Avery,

I been thinking about you lately.

I think my blog has neglected a voice that you will naturally grow to love. You will come to know her as Mom. I remember when I met her, I firmly believed I wouldn’t ever have a child. I even hypothesized my own vasectomy and a future of being the guy who turns to his pets and calls them family. I know, it was a hard sell, and I often wondered if your Mother would be another girl I push away or get pushed away from. I was an idealist, and I think that my social rebellion was most of my appeal. Aesthetically I’m harmless, I never dress flashy, I have no tattoos, and I can socially present myself in a friendly way, but beneath that average guy routine, was a proudly conflicted person who marveled in his rejection of family convention. Some of it is my dedication to an idea of youthful arrogance, and some of it was the emotional baggage of growing up in a broken home.

Avery, let me set the record straight, I ended that paragraph sounding like a victim; let me clarify, I was not a victim. I was loved, cared for, and I had plenty of fun-filled adventures. So when I speak of things that weren’t pretty, I prefer to think of them as my rite-of-passage into being an adult. This way I can focus on building a future that has a better version of me in it. Together, your Mother and I plan to grow in new directions and finally leave our childhood behind us. We may have been dragging our feet until now, but have no fear, you are already the center of everything we do.

What I have learned over time is that the compromises we make as adults, become necessities of personal growth. I can at least proudly say that I have made my own path, and I’m finally ready to share it with you.

I will admit, it saddens me to see my youth in the rear-view mirror, thankfully I can look forward to witnessing your own.


Hi Avery,

I recently read the famous novella by Ernest Hemingway “The Old Man and the Sea”, it is an honest examination of the meaning of life. That being the struggle against death. This ride your heart beat is taking you on, is leading to eventual defeat, that nobody can win.

Your mind is fishing for life and its caught your body. A vehicle that starts out as a beacon of freedom, resilience, growth, and a feeling of limitless capabilities, will only last as long as it takes you to figure how to use it, by that time, the peak of its performance will be looking at you in the rear view mirror, with an unavoidable collision in front of you.

This is what I will look like to you

Just the other day, I was walking across a street and my foot tripped on a pot-hole. I was enjoying my music, and a beautiful Chicago morning then, bang!


That was an unjust quick version of the story, to really appreciate the significance of this blunder, I will break it down for you play by play. First, a single foot clips the edge of a pothole. My mind enters a slow motion panic, I can feel my senses heighten, my heart rate increase and my brain sub-consciously screams “Red-alert, were going down, prepare for impact!”.
Second, I struggle to not fall. My momentum carries me through three long steps acting as a fleeting  attempt to prevent the crash. This effort has only increased my velocity, and will result in further damage.

Third, I crash. The impact was powerful, I  had enough velocity to carry my momentum into an over-the-shoulder tuck and roll. It was not a moment of graceful gymnastics, it was a crushing display of physics, where soft-tissue weight and bone density is multiplied by gravity and says hello to a surface of asphalt.

Finally, the aftermath. I get up quick, too quick. I do not check for injuries, instead I continue walking in the exact path I had been hurled off of. Except, I was not the same person as I was before impact. My extremities twitched uncontrollably and felt unnaturally light. I could feel my nerve endings scan for pain, a pain that adrenaline would be hiding. My heart worked double time, and my brain felt disconnected from all things non-survival related. A new destination was safety and rest for my aging body to reconnect itself with the comfort of survival.

Were trapped Avery, we depend on a vessel that exists in a world of rules. These rules will catch up to you, and you will lose. I knew that day, I was closer to death, than I was to life. The mathematics of average life expectancy are severely irrelevant,  I felt my body truly struggle with the fear of death. It was simple and primal, but it scared me, and launched me into a deeper understanding of the reality of demise. This is a warning, because this moment arrived quickly for me, as I clung to an idea of youth, but it is officially just that, an idea. The end is always near, and every molecule of our body feels it, but every part of society will tell you to ignore it.

Like all parents, I hope I die first.

Hi Avery, it’s your father, again…

I feel like I need to examine the direction of my creative aspirations, is my talent just a deluded figment of my imagination, or am I exploring something real? How do I know that I’m on the path towards achieving a sense of creative self-importance? Its important to me, to feel like I’m good at this, and sometimes I feel a realistic possibility that I lack a worthwhile voice.

Some of my ideals of what is and is not worthwhile, were recently challenged in a manor that I had not expected. I had this feeling that my selfishness could be poisoning my motives to write, and I began to ask myself, is this a sincere attempt to create art, or is this just the window dressing of an insecure ego?

For much of my life, I have experienced these discoveries of “truth” from the perspective of a consumer; watching movies, reading books and listening to the conversations of artists that I admire. On this occasion, I had experienced it from the perspective of a creator. I had to write something that was not about me. It was a speech for a friends wedding, and it felt like a new challenge, because it had to be about him, and him only.

Avery, I was afraid that my craft is only driven by ego, and I was afraid of performing without it. I accepted the challenge, and decided to ignore my concerns, and try my best.


Here is the speech I wrote for Michael and April Kledzinski’s wedding celebration:

“Mike can be a challenging person to get to know.

When you engage Him in a conversation, he will never share a thoughtless opinion

But he will only provide you with the most necessary information,

often at a pace that could be described as “calculating”.

I’m grateful to say, we quickly became friends with many shared interests.

As much as I enjoyed this friendship, I would sometimes feel like Mike was holding back on life,

I could never understand exactly why it seemed that way.

But This doubt of mine was proven wrong,

When a feisty red-head from Texas came to visit for a weekend.

I noticed a new smile, I heard a new laugh, and I saw a side of Mike that I had never seen before.

Mike was never holding back, he was looking for something worth fighting for….

Tonight, I would like to personally thank Mike and April

for reminding me that the richest path to happiness is the path you make your own,

I kindly ask everyone to raise their glasses,

In honor to Mike and April’s future, happiness, and the the trail of memories they intend to share with us all.

Life is better together, so let’s keep it that way

Written by: Shawn P. Boyle  June 4th 2011

I wrote and re-wrote that short speech, all the way up to the final seconds of show-time, and when I finished my speech, I did not get much of an immediate reaction from the audience. An insecure panic sets in, and I wonder; was it too short, was my humor misunderstood, or… am I just not funny?
Thankfully my concerns were quickly squashed. Friends and family flooded me with praise, a few had even admitted to crying, so my ego bloats and I spend the rest of the night, wearing an exuberant smile of personal accomplishment.


I learned a valuable lesson that day Avery, people will notice you when you care, when you try, and when you speak honestly about someone besides yourself. I don’t want you growing up being selfish, like I did, and if I’m going to have those expectations of you, I need to apply them to myself as well.

I look forward to further acts of unselfishness, and I look forward to you. I don’t know if I’m a great writer, and I don’t know if I will be a good Father, what I do know, is that I’m finally no longer afraid to try.


                            Love, Dad

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Hi Avery,

I feel lonely, and I think it is an important reminder of my selfishness. Too often I fantasize romantic adventures as seen in movies. Like becoming an ancient artifact historian, wearing a brown brim hat and swinging across caves. The other version is a quiet simple life of minimalism, backpacking in the deep woods or traveling around the world collecting unique memories in placement of material goods or property.

I pretend that this blog is a symbolic flash light to guide an unborn child through their dark future. Yet all I can do is talk about myself. It’s pretty obvious that my premise is bullshit. Still, it seems like human nature begs the question, “what if”? My theory is that some of parenting draws inspiration from the selfish desire to improve upon the previous parenting. The flaw in this system, is for every one person depressed by defeat is creating a winner that will be inevitably bored with victory. How do can I equally avoid despair and boredom as a singular entity? Maybe together, through this philosophical journey, I can figure that out.

So here is my idea. First, I will embrace the first person perspective. It is selfish and vain but it is the truth. You can’t really tell someone how to fix their life, you can only lead by example and hope they fix it themselves. So I shall continue to lead you with the best of my ability, for as long as you choose to follow.
I love you,
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I have bad news for you Avery, some day your joyful innocence will be poisoned with the hormones of puberty. My intention is not to take away your struggles, but instead to make sure you don’t feel alone in your suffering. I can only share my own stories and hope you can find comfort in the company of my pubescent nightmares.

Unfortunately the time-line of my memories are fogged and will be far from accurate. An accurate account would be a great help for you, but my memory has it’s reasons. Lets just assume all of these stories range between the ages of 10-12 years old.

My first feeling of arousal happened in church. It was during the moment where the adults embrace each other and exchanged their “Peace be with you’s”. I had summoned the courage to participate in the ritual because I had a crush on a young woman behind me. I wanted to know what her skin would feel like touching my own. I also admired the way this woman dressed and felt conflicted by my fascination in her garb. She turned at the waist and twisted to shake the hand of a person on the other side. As her hand reached over, an opening between the buttons of her blouse was formed. This secret window framed her soft bare flesh and the bottom edge of a white lacy bra perfectly. Her body shifted towards me and her hands reached out to clasp my own. She gave my small single hand a sensual two handed clasp. I felt the warmth of her flesh travel throughout my entire body with a direct destination to my groin. I heard her voice but none the words she used (a theme that would continue to haunt my love conquests for years to come). I excused myself to use the washroom, and I sat on the toilet alone waiting for the protrusion to pass. I told my family I was constipated, they gave me laxatives and I spent the day alone with diarrhea and erections. Every Sunday at church, I would find the same body with a different face and repeat the behavior. Still to this day, church gives me an erection.

Not long after this, I had my first nocturnal emission. My Mother promptly washed my sheets and said “Don’t worry about it, it happens”. I didn’t have the courage to ask, “what is it?”. I never had a repeat occurrence cause I accidentally stumbled upon masturbation soon after. I was taking my bath with my action figure toys. I liked taking baths, cause it felt very private and selfish, like I was in a secret lair. I would always bring toys, and my body would become the playing field for their adventures. I loved the notion that they could breath under water, an ability I envied greatly. I had one female G.I. Joe, that I named after my school yard crush Ashley.  The typical scenario would be, the male G.I. Joe’s captured her, and the Ninja Turtles would aquatically sneak attack them to save the day. This occasion, I decided that each Hero would be awarded a kiss from their damsel in distress. I closed my eyes and pictured the women in pretty clothes at church kissing me; my hands new what to do next. I never brought toys to the bathtub again, they had been replaced.

The first entry into my jerk bank.

I had only confided in one person about my new discoveries. Well actually he confided in me first, since he was a year or two older, and just as confused as I. It was a huge relief to learn that his penis was able to do similar things. He would sleep over and we would masturbate late at night in the same room. It was comforting more than it was sexual. I started to look forward to our little jerk-off (pun-intended) sessions. Until one fateful evening changed the course of my puberty permanently. It was at Mike Ramel’s house, and a half dozen of us were having a sleep over to celebrate his birthday. Everyone was taking turns telling a secret and it was mostly frivolous gossip about who kissed who at the dance last week. I thought I would be the coolest kid on the block and I told them everything that my buddy (who wasn’t present) and I had been doing. They all stared at me in silence, it was the longest silence of my life. At the moment, I felt judged and ashamed. Looking back, I bet they felt on the spot to discuss their own explorations. As a group, their silence banded them together and they took the path of least resistance. In their blank stare they unknowingly fast tracked my insecurities. I hated myself for masturbating, and I decided to hate my jerk-off friend as well. I forced myself to feel like a victim of his curiosity and naively dismissed him as a predator of my innocence. From there on out, I never discussed my sexuality with anyone until it was much too late. Confusion and fear compounded exponentially with each ejaculation. I began masturbating non stop, I would even sneakily jerk in the back of the family van while driving to distant destinations. The more shame I felt, the more drastic and unhealthy my sexual actions became. I don’t understand why nobody caught me, looking back I think I intended to be caught.

For the most part I survived, but I still act out with progressively outlandish desires, and often times, I still feel like the weird freak at the sleep over.

Good luck Avery. I can promise you will suffer, but I beg you to accept, that you will not suffer alone.


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Avery, the most important time of your life is spent in the womb with your Mother. You will grow over nine months with the lifestyle of a parasite clinging for a free ride.  During such time you will have no windows into the world of human vanity and I envy your position of ignorance. The moment you’re born, this world will want to hide you from yourself. Human civilization likes to brag about their abilities of free thinking and expressionism. I think of it more as a delusional defense mechanism. Its not horrible that we hide, the horror is in the methods of our lies. We drown ourselves into a mental mucus of self-hate, and a palpable fear of the vehicle in which we exist. We all continue to carry an identical burden without ever noticing the irony of relevance.

I want to tell you about my physical deformities and the self torment I have endured my entire life. To put it simply, I live in a body that I hate. NLazy ot a day goes by that I don’t fantasize physical perfection. I hate my body hair, lazy-eyes,  penis, fat belly, love handles, man-tits, teeth, and my flabby stretch marked arms. Most of these things are my fault. I could eat healthier, see a dentist, exercise and dress better; but I don’t. All that aside, there is one physical failure that haunts my conscious above all else. I was born with a birth mark on my right but-cheek. Not some cute little freckle colored shape. Were talking about an area of black splotches that cover 75% of the right cheek. Not only does this look hideous, it is also complimented by matching lump shapes that feels similar to cottage cheese in a zip lock bag. Half of my sexual partners don’t even know this about me. I would keep my back-side hidden from them and intimacy would be tainted by my deception. The strangest thing is that it changes every day. Some days it feels and looks like a bag of black cancer rotting beneath my flesh. Other days, it looks like a faint bruise. Sometimes, I secretly wonder if it is my own natural mood ring. If only it had some secrete power or purpose, but it doesn’t. It just exists everyday as if it has its own personality. I often wonder if it is feeding off me, like an emotional parasite fueling off of my confidence and self worth while clinging to a free ride.


This is about you Avery, not me. I have my problems and I will continue to suffer from them with sporadic degrees of severity; but I wish to be stronger. I must act as a role model and start abandoning the sickness that I wish to spare you from. It is time for me to embrace my imperfections and lead by example. Exposure is the only cure, and with it, I shall finally be free of this emotional burden.

You give me courage:


Love, Dad

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