5 July 2008
Dear Sophia,
I’m writing this letter as the first in a series of letters to you over the course of your life.
I’m on a United flight 35,000 feet over the Sea of Okhotsk in eastern Siberia. I’m heading back to Beijing leaving you and your mother in San Francisco for a week while I attend to some meetings in China.
I wanted to tell how proud I am to be your father. You have brought your mother and me so much happiness. Your constant smile, your amazing ability to bring a smile to the faces of everyone you meet.
When I think of your 10 months so far (tomorrow is the 10-month anniversary of your birth), I reflect on a few moments:
The day you were born was one of the great days of my life. But there are many other memories I have—all of them wonderful and ever-lasting.
I remember your first smile—you were about two months old and I was away for a day or two. When I came back you smiled for the first time. We took a picture.
I remember your first laugh—when we had a dance to the song Stop and Go.
I had you alone to myself on a weekend in June this year; you were such a sweet girl. So patient with me even when I wasn’t as prepared as I should have been. You crawled up my back and bit my nose and I love you for that.
Your sweet disposition is unmatched by any one we’ve ever met. You constantly smile, you giggle, and even when you are tired you make such a tremendous effort to keep up a strong face and you laugh and laugh.
I know that when you read this later in life, you might think it silly and a bit old fashioned. But you are the most beautiful and perfect being we could ever have hoped for or imagined.
You will understand when you have your own kids.
Your mother and I love you very much. I can’t wait to see you again in a week.
Love,
Your father
