Dear Evan:

Looking back, I’ve been remiss in writing about your third birthday. How did I miss that? I’ll admit I write less frequently than I want to, but I was sure I’d covered you turning three.

Evan and Daddy

I hope memory can do the day justice. It was overcast and chilly, but not too chilly, which is good. Wait, I’m starting in the wrong place. Let’s start with your love of animals.

Right now, you are absolutely in love with two categories of animals: ocean creatures (and octopi most of all) and butterflies. I wonder whether that will carry through your life. Will you be a marine biologist? An entomologist? Will you somehow combine your love for construction vehicles? Or will this all fade? (I hope not.)

So, butterflies. One of your favorite places is the Butterfly House in Dallas’ Fair Park. (Bonus, you can go there and the Fair Park aquarium in the same day.) The house is a two-story glass structure that’s warm and humid and filled with exotic plants and flowers. And, of course, butterflies. Lots and lots of butterflies. Somehow, the Blue Morpho is your favorite, though it’s much more likely you’ll see Monarchs fluttering around our yard.

For your birthday, your mom invited some of your favorite people — all adults; you don’t have many friends your age yet — to the Butterfly House. The day was overcast and chilly, but not too chilly, which is good, because we set up at a picnic table outside. Your mom made a chocolate cake decorated with a skeleton (after all, your birthday is almost Halloween). My parents — your Lovey and Grumpy — were there, and your mom’s parents, Mimi and Papa. Miss Charly and her then-boyfriend, now-fiance Corey showed up, as did your mom’s friend Miss Jessica. We sang songs, opened presents, went inside and watched the butterflies.

I’m not a butterfly guy, but it was absolutely beautiful. Peaceful, even. Well, as peaceful as a place can be when a toddler is chasing butterflies. It was a good third birthday.

And so: octopi.

Ev and Mommy

Your love of sea creatures has been longer in the making, long enough that I’ll write more about it later. What’s less clear is how the octopus became your favorite. I think it’s because they use tentacles much the way you use your hands, so you can pretend to be one. And they don’t have sharp teeth, something I’ve written about before.

I can tell you why your octopus toys are mostly named Frank: You have a habit of adding -y to the end of your favorite toys when you name them. So: Bulldozery, Excavatory, Dump Trucky. Duck Duck was an anomaly, but not Dolphiny. Do you see where this is going with Octopus? If not, set aside this letter and read it again when you’re older.

Your mom warned me, the first time you brought home an octopus toy, and so when you held him up and asked his name, “Frank” was the first thing to leave my mouth. And now, every octopus you see, real or toy, is named Frank.

And that, as Paul Harvey used to say, is the rest of the story.

I love you,

Daddy

Dear Evan:

I love words. I like to say I can taste words, and I sort of can, if that makes any sense. So I love that your quick little brain arranges words exactly as you think they should work.

Right now, you’re full of questions. I’ll set aside our immense frustration with “Whyyyyy?” for another letter. More endearing is how you ask “Have you ever seen…?”:

“Ever you sawn a…?”

We love it. We’ve started saying it, correct grammar be damned. I think you know by now that it’s not entirely correct, but you play along. Maybe by the time you read this, you’ll wonder why we still say such a weird phrase.

Almost as cute is “What is this a?” complete with the article at the end of the question. When you think about it through the lens of a toddler still learning the language, it makes sense. After all, we always reply with, “This is a (whatever).” So why wouldn’t you ask what it is a?

You talk so much, and know so many words, it’s sometimes difficult to remember you’re only just three years old. I hope, when you’re reading this, we haven’t treated you as such an adult that you missed out on childhood. It happens sometimes; on weekends, you tend to be my conversation companion for the many hours you’re awake before noon. So we slip like that, and I apologize in advance. Please know we always catch ourselves, and remind ourselves you’re still a child who needs to play and explore and make up your own words and not be told a phrase is wrong just because adults think it is.

I love you,

Daddy