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Dear Gosling,
I can’t believe your Dad and I were almost late for your birth, but that’s just our luck isn’t it? Carole - she’s your Ma, by the way - kept telling us you were due on the 20 th , but you just had to be stubborn and impatient, didn’t you? Your Dad says that you got that from me, I say that he’s the one stubborn enough to stay in my backseat, but anyway.
Your Dad and I sprinted the entire way from the docks to the hospital and the way your Ma tells it, Goose crashed through the door to her room just in time to hear you cry for the first time. (She also says that he only managed to stare at you for all o’ five seconds before fainting, ha ha ha.) I got to hold you after the nurses were done with you. Carole was trying to wake up your Dad, so the nurses put you in my arms. You didn’t even have a name yet, you were just Baby Bradshaw as far as anyone was concerned, but I held you in my arms and watched your tiny fists beat against the blue blanket. Your eyes were so big and your nose and mouth and ears and fingers and body were so, so small.
I held you in my arms and decided right then and there that you were the most important person in my life. Goose is my brother, Carole is the sister I never had, but you, Baby Bird? You’re my Godson. I’ve known you for less than four hours, but my world has narrowed down to the tiny little noises you make every five seconds.
When he came to, Goose stole you from me (he’s your Dad, so I guess it’s ok) and told me that he wants to name you Bradley, after Carole’s Grampa. Bradley Bradshaw, that’s your name now. He said he’d call you Brad-Brad - I told him he’d missed his chance and I’d already dubbed you Gosling.
Speaking of your Dad, he’s asking me what I’m writing. I tell him I’m writing you a letter. Goose has this look on his face, I’m sure you’ll learn it soon. It’s the one where he’s trying to tell you that he’s not buying what you’re selling, but he can’t quite manage it because he’s trying not to laugh. “You know Brad-Brad won’t be able to read for years?” He asks. Obviously, I know you can’t read yet, but your Dad likes to think he’s funny, so I let him have his laugh.
“Maybe it’s for me then,” I say. “All the things I want to say to my Godson but can’t because he won’t understand yet.” Your Dad tells me not to rip out the page I’m writing on. He says I can use it like a journal and then give it to you If I want you to read it. So I guess this is the start of your life, little Gosling. I can’t wait to see what you do with it.
All my love,
Your Uncle Maverick