You were born into a state with the third highest unemployment rate in the country. Homeless Americans have taken to sleeping in tents under bridges just a stone’s throw from restaurants serving lobster tails and grilled lamb. Folks who used to vacation at the beach are now passing their summers with cheap steaks in the back yard while their feet dangle in kiddie pools.

Everyone is doing more with less.

There are less cops on the streets to battle the rise in crime that comes with hard times. Teachers and their bosses wage war over salary and benefits instead of curriculum and student achievement. Your father’s chosen profession – print media – has never seen harder times.

And still we chose to bring you into this world.

We have our first black president. His name is Barack Obama and you don’t have to believe in his politics to believe in the promise his election holds for future generations.

We have more access to information and independent study than ever before. Anyone with a library card or Internet access and a will to learn can do so.

Despite every hardship facing this country there are Americans who wake up every morning and choose to build a better life for themselves and their family.

I don’t know what world we’ll live in by the time you read this, but I know you will be loved. I know you will be able to change that world if you try.

While I think of these things you are asleep on my chest. You and I listen while your grandparents (my side) and your mother chat over the end of a meal I prepared in their honor. Nothing fancy. A simple tomato sauce and fresh clams over linguine served with crusty bread from the bakery down the street. It is a meal that would have made your ancestors proud and I was proud to serve it.

It is warm in our home. The light is low and the sound of voices coming from the dining room are a lullaby of memories that you will one day find familiar. They speak of hard times when they were young and the hope and love that kept them going. They speak of relatives and friends who are long gone from this world but whose memories remain. And they talk of you and your sister, Charlotte, and how they wish to live forever just to watch you grow.

I know how they feel.

You are a blessing to us Henry. I have taken to calling you “Hankenstein.” Your sister Charlotte calls you “Baby Henry.” She is gentle with you and I suspect she will always be your protector.

You sleep all day and party all night. By “party” I mean you are typically wide awake when we’d like you to be dozing.

You are blessed with a wonderful mother who is tireless in her care with you and your sister. Behind her and I stand a family waiting to catch you when you fall.

By now you know we won’t always be here.

I only hope that while we are here that we love and teach you enough to prepare you for a world that is yours for the taking, no matter how hard it fights back.