Music can dictates more than man can control.

Well, Baby Fritz, you’re baking in mama’s tummy in some crazy times.  The first ever black man is president; and a movie star from a really awesome movie called Shawshank Redemption, (which you aren’t allowed to watch until your in High School, claims that America is racist.  Meanwhile, the People are in an unending argument claiming they want less Government, but they seem very confused as to what that even means.

It is my sincere hope that by the time you develop cognitive skills of your own, the world somehow becomes a better place.  I hope you learn from the mistakes you mama’s and my generation are making, and somehow come out of it fine.  If not just to live a life of success so you can become a proud parent like me, but at least to the point that you aren’t annoyed by every mislead asshole (you can’t say that word until at least 3^rd grade) on Facebook.  Oh and Facebook this website where ever posted meaningless one-liners.  I know, we all thought it was dumb too.

            Love,

                        Fritz

P.S. I know you call me Daddy, but this was so the folks at home know who the letter.

Lauren and I went into the Doctor’s to get some of her blood taken.  I guess it’s standard procedure; unless their just vampires… I’ll look a little further into that.

But it went really fast, surprisingly fast.  When we got there Guns n’ Roses – November Rain was playing on the radio, and when we left the song was just ending.  Granted that is a long song, but not for an entire visit to the Doctor’s including the time in the waiting room.

This sparked a conversation between Lauren and I about what song we wanted to play to the baby on our way home from the Hospital.  The first song to me seems critically important (though it probably isn’t and what I’m about to say is likely not true).  Imagine if we played Dashboard Confessional.  Our baby would grow up not trusting women and whining about it in a monotone voice with an acoustic guitar.  But if we play Imagine – John Lennon, our baby would grow up to become a pretentious douche that Daddy just can’t stand to be near, though Mama, would love it.

In addition it’s got to be something with some staying power.  Using the examples from above; no one listens to Dashboard anymore.  John Lennon on the other hand will likely still be on the radio when our child is grown and maybe he’ll (or she’ll) have that moment somewhere in his (or her) subconscious so when that song is played, Baby Fritz will think back to a time when things were as perfect as can be.

So far the only song we agreed on is Fortunate Son – C.C.R.  it’s got staying power, and some of it’s lyrics work well;

“Some folks are born silver spoon in hand
Lord, don't they help themselves, oh
But when the tax men come to the door
Lord, the house look a like a rummage sale, yes


It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no millionaire's son, no, no
It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate one, no”.

Though, that being said, some of the lyrics go against what I believe to be the duty of an American, but we’ll see.

My secret plan however, which Lauren is figuring out as she reads this sentence, is to sing a song when I’m holding Baby Fritz before he comes home.  That song will be Modest Mouse – 5-4-3-2-1 Lisp off.  If you haven’t heard the song before, I’ll put the lyrics below; I always thought it’d be the perfect song to sing to a kid when they are almost developing an understand of what words mean and maybe spark some imagination and an admiration for Science or specifically space;

            “Wha’cha do, wha’cha do, wha’cha do with your eyes,

            wha’cha see, wha’cha see, wha’cha see as an Astronaut? o-k.

            Wha’cha eat, wha’cha eat, wha’cha eat as an alien?

            Wha’cha want, wha’cha want from outer space?”

No meaning whatsoever, and entirely too short for a car ride home.  But if Baby Fritz takes after me at all, he’ll (or she’ll) love this song.