“Since I started these letters, I've been a million different things, some good and some ugly.
But today, on your twenty-eighth birthday, I feel like the same man I was all those years ago.
Staring at you. Counting your fingers.
Wondering what it is that makes you so different from the rest of the world. I don't know when it happened, but I'm happy again. I think, even if things don't stay like this, I will always carry this moment in me. How could I ever be sad, having watched my baby grow into the woman she is?
January, you are twenty-eight, and today I am your father.”