My Dearest Emerson,
You have taught me so much over the last 5 1/2 months. You have soften some of my rough edges, exposed much of my selfishness, and forced to me re-evaluate my thoughts on faith, family, politics, time, money and life itself. Your mother and I could not feel more blessed than when we stare into your round eyes that squint when you laugh, your pouty lips that quiver when you cry or that deep throaty giggle that is followed by a high pitched squeal that makes the neighbor's Labrador howl. I look to the future with such anticipation, eager to see what else you will teach me in the years ahead. There is no doubt that I am a better man because of your presence in my life.
All learning requires a responsible recipient. I worry sometimes that I am inadequate as a father, that I can not give back to you what you have already given me in your short life. There is so much you need to know, and I am overwhelmed with how to teach. How can I model for you a worthy life? How can I prepare you to live in a world that is so often out of sorts.
I am concerned that this generation has not prepared a bright future for you. Even now, we are in the midst of an immoral war, that has undermined this country's standing with the rest of the world. We have financed your future for our own short sighted present interests. We dumb down complex issues to coded sound bytes meant to rally support from the unthinking. We live beyond our means, treat the poor of our society as a nuisance that take resources away from out own material progress. We spy on each other, torture our enemies, ignore our stewardship of God's great creation and put the interests of big business
over and above the dignity of the individual. Even our places of worship have compromised their message of love for God and neighbor, with a pro-military, pro-consumeristic, pro-therapeutic, pro-America (to the exclusion of all others) message that bows to a flag instead of kneeling at a cross. My beloved daughter, it pains me to say that this world is not easy or just.
Don't cry now! Your mother and I vow to work as hard as we know how to make things better for you. We will fail at times for sure, but we will try. In that effort, we will share with you, at times, things that we think you should know. Obviously, it is our hope that you will grow to be a person that thinks for herself, but the cultural messages in our media dominated society are often hard to penetrate. I know I haven't earned your trust completely, but as we approach this third Saturday in October, I beg of you to at least hear out your old man.
There are certain times of the year that are special, dare I say even sacred. The great Christian seasons of Advent, Christmastide, Lent, Easter and Pentecost are examples. Such seasons and days, give us a perspective of time, a rhythm in life that is so necessary, lest we think that the only days that matter are when you are suppose to buy something, to be a consumer.
Dear daughter, do not be deceived by such marketing. Just because the world wants you to celebrate the shopping day after Thanksgiving more than Thanksgiving itself, does not mean that a day of gratitude is of lesser importance. Just because December 19 is the day when UPS delivers its most packages, does not mean that it is of more significance than December 25. And Emerson, hear me out, just because Alabama plays tennessee at 11:30 AM on a Lincoln Financial broadcast on Saturday, does not mean that this game is any less important.
While ABC wants to continue to over hype USC and the Pac-10, while the BCS wants to make of mockery of the game, while NBC is stuck with its miserable and unholy matrimony with Notre Dame and 
while CBS thinks Kentucky football matters, none of these events should persuade you from knowing that the one true thing that counts in football is that Alabama plays tennessee on the Third Saturday in October. It is in this game that history is shaped, where agnostics becomes believers, where people of Crimson blood put aside their idealogical differences and come together. Come together to work for justice. Come together to do what your mother and I want so desperately, to make this world a better place for you.
And what does a better world look like? How will we measure our progress? I don't know all the answers but I do know this. We will know that we are getting there, when LSU is exposed for what they are, a fad, like parachute pants and hair bands. We can celebrate progress when Tim Tebow graduates and Florida goes back on probation. We will rejoice, when Arkansas is kicked out of the Southeastern conference because it never deserved to be in it in the first place. What are they, Nutts?! And don't worry about South Carolina or auburn, gamecocks always go limp (even Levitra only works for 4 hours) and Tubberville has a lifetime contract.
I feel confident that in time, say 2 to 5 years, the University of Georgia will ask Michael Vick to come back and be their quarterback coach. We know that he can say "Go Dawgs!" Actuaries tell us that Rich Brooks will die soon and the state of Mississippi will never be relevant. Finally, Vandy is Vandy, so you see my dearest one, there is hope in the autumn air.
That leaves us with one menacing presence that must become overcome. One sick, incestuous virus that must be vanquished. And that is how it has always been in the football frenzied Deep South. There is only one school that should concern you, Emerson. Regardless of their record, in spite of the crappy television time slot, or the certain pending coronary attack that Philip Fulmer is destined to experience, the volunteers are at the root of a downwardly mobile culture. They deserve our respect, if only because they are what keep us from progress.
While recent history has been unkind, do not let that lead you to nihilism. Instead, let it motivate you to dream and work for a better tomorrow. Emerson, that work continues this Saturday. I want you to know that your mother and I will be there doing out part, doing it for you, doing it for the good will of all men and women. We will sacrifice our voices, give up precious hours away from you, and expose our eyes to orange hues that would be inappropriate for me to describe to a minor. But it is my hope, my beloved, that this Saturday, will be a step in the right direction. Come Saturday afternoon, our country will still be at war, we still have a 13 months of a Bush presidency, and there will still be low income children being denied health insurance, but progress will be made. Baby steps, but steps nonetheless. I know you can appreciate that.
So my darling, around 3 P.M on Saturday, direct your beautiful slate colored eyes towards the southwest for you will see history being redeemed. You will witness another step in the inevitable climb back towards Alabama supremacy. Treasure the moment with you aunt, burn the image into your mind and never, ever, let anyone convince you that this game doesn't matter. I can't tell the exact time for sure, but you will know it when it happens. For while you will not be able to see the top of the Bryant-Denny temple, you will catch the evidence of progress in the curls of smoke, like the tuft of hair on the top of your head, rising heavenwardly from the ashes of our victory cigar. We will be home shortly there after, we will pick you up, take you home, feed you, bathe you, and put you to bed so that you can sleep soundly knowing that the next day will be better than the present. And that is all we can do, it is what we must do, each and every October. Roll Tide, my little one, ROLL TIDE!
Your loving father.
