Dear Open Letter To Pat Robertson:

I thought, when penning you, that I was being really original. Alas, it turns out you were just one of a myriad of Open Letters To Pat Robertson written by everyone from legendary funnyman Norman Lear to some lady in one of those M states like Minnesota or Missouri or Iowa. I have to admit, hers was pretty awesome (2nd letter down).

You may be asking what you had to do with parenting or fatherhood. I may not have made it very clear, but I wrote you because I wanted to address people who fill the world — a world now inhabited by my children — with hate. I found it especially offensive that someone would fill the world with hate in the name of God. Well, it appears I may have induced God’s wrath by writing you. The cold I got from the boys last week has moved from my sinuses to my ear to my throat to my chest. And for some reason, I keep remembering that Jim Henson died of pneumonia.

During this holiday weekend, I’ve only seen my boys in hazy intervals between bouts of unconsciousness. So, Open Letter To Pat Robertson, since you seem to have a red Bat-Phone to God, please tell him to get this cold out of me. In the meantime, I promise I’ll go back to less political posts. Instead, I’ll do the wry observations about toy pianos and poopy diapers you’ve come to expect. Thanks… and, um, amen?

Sincerely,

David Vienna
TheDaddyComplex.com