Kid, it’s time for your annual review

Dear KID,

As you’re about to celebrate your first birthday, I thought there were a few issues we should probably address. Please don’t think of this as merely a note from your old man. Consider it a year-end performance appraisal. Soon enough, your life will be filled with them.

First, you need to start leaving the other animals alone. The dog and cat have teeth and claws bigger than your own. And for obvious reasons, the two of them are not your biggest fans.

You pull their fur and eat their food and suck up the extra affection they used to receive. They have shown an amazing degree of tolerance toward you, a new baby. Don’t push your luck. I realize the dog’s beef-and-rice nuggets taste delicious to you, with that gravy they form in your little mouth. They’re not worth it.

Second, we’re about to bring a big tree into the house. It is not some giant, green climbing device. Despite the resemblance, it is not your Uncle Irv.

After we bring this tree into the house, we will string lights on it and decorate it with shiny balls. Let me warn you: Those lights will incite you, make you crazy with baby lust. The twinkly ornaments will appear to you in your sleep, whispering your name in the night.

My advice? Ignore the tree. Do not sip its water. Do not pull its bejeweled branches. Like the dog and cat, it was not built to handle babies. For God’s sake, son, show some willpower. The world could use more willpower.

Before I forget, your mother’s birthday is also just around the corner, and though each year she insists that we not bother with clothes or other gifts, it will be your responsibility to buy her things that don’t fit in colors that she’d never, ever wear. It’s sort of a tradition around here. We buy the stuff, then she returns it and gets something she can actually be seen in.

Like many traditions, this will make no sense whatsoever. Can I make a suggestion? Go with it. As you’ll soon find, women often say one thing and mean another. It’s like driving a tee shot into a heavy crosswind. You have to allow for it. When women are involved, play the wind.

We may also, you and I, build your mother a nice birthday cake to mark the occasion. What, you don’t know how to build a birthday cake? Neither do I. Yet we will mix and pour and lick the spoons and create a cake that couldn’t pass a single building code. Your mother will cry when we present her with this crooked cake. If we’re lucky, it will make up for those mismatched clothes we bought her.

While you’re at it, you might want to do something nice for your brother and sisters, who have shown a tremendous amount of patience and class during your noisy, sticky, sleepless first year.

Remember that big family dinner we had last week? That was called Thanksgiving. It is a fine and noble American holiday. You single-handedly turned it into a Marx Brothers movie. That thing you did with the turkey leg? A felony in 15 states. The thing you did with your water? Sid Caesar was doing spit-takes like that 50 years ago.

Sure, your mother laughed at your little antics, but I could see the age lines forming around her eyes and mouth. By the time dinner was over, she looked like a Pilgrim in need of a Bible. A screen legend in need of gin. I know, I know ... you gave your mother a big hug when it was over. Not enough, pal. You should’ve given her a diamond and a deed to a nice house in the Hollywood Hills. Remember that when you’re older. Say, around 6.

Speaking of older, you’re about to embark on your second full year. This will be an exciting time for you. You’ll learn to wave goodbye to people. You’ll be exposed to cheese sticks and possibly those little orange fish crackers. A big purple dinosaur will soon appear to you on TV as some sort of six-toed Messiah. His name is Barney. Embrace him. Hear his message. Let him add meaning to your life.

“If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops,

oh, what a rain that would be.

Standing outside with your mouth open wide,

Ah, ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ahhhh ... “

That’s one of Barney’s most-famous hymns. Sing it at low throttle, or you will witness the sight of your father’s head exploding like a pinata. That’s all I’m going to say about Barney. As with all questions of faith, make your own decisions.

So, those are just a few words of encouragement and advice as you finish your first year of life. All in all, we think you’ve accomplished many good and important things for this family. Now, it’s time to look ahead. Where you see an obstacle, I see a challenge. As any MBA will tell you, there are no problems in life, only opportunities.

Good luck, little guy. Oh, and happy birthday. You’ll never forget your first.

Love, Dad

*

Chris Erskine can be reached at [email protected].