How to get into Heaven

When I had my oldest daughter Amira, my dad gave me this letter.

It’s a letter that’s been passed down in the Doolittle Family since 1927. 

It illustrates how hard it can be to be a parent. I read it wherever I feel like a shitty mom. (Which is at least once a week.) 

This letter my dad gave me also inspired me a few years ago to write a series of letters to my own daughters, Amira and Yara.

I’m not sure if I will ever publish these letters or if I will share them privately with the girls later. 

But this letter is one of my favorites, and in the name of sharing my work more often, I thought I’d share it with you all today.

XOXO,
Kayti 

How to get into Heaven Kevin

Amira, I couldn’t believe your dad did it but then I saw the jet black fluffy puppy on Skype video chat…

This little dog was running circles around your dad, with his butt low to the ground.

And instantly I knew.

Your dad had been telling the truth.

Your dad had stolen the neighbor’s dog.

The stolen dog looked like it was some sort of yorkie poodle mix, which was quite a fashionable breed in the early 2000s.

Every famous person was shoving tea-cup-sized Yorkies in oversized purses and carrying them as accessories. I, however, had grown up with Yorkies. So I knew they weren’t as innocent as they appeared. They pissed everywhere, they were defiant and yappy... 

But from what I could tell this one seemed cute, like one of those Ewoks from Star Wars, although it was hard to tell because the little black ball just wouldn’t fucking sit still.

“You know you are going to have to move out of that house,” I said, trying to keep the venom in my speech undetectable. 

“You can’t steal the neighbor’s dog and then go take him on a walk around the neighborhood.”

“I know,” your dad grinned, never taking his eyes off the dog.

As you can imagine, Amira, I was annoyed with your dad. 

For one, he’d gotten a dog when I wasn’t even there. 

At the time, I was living and teaching in South Korea. Your dad and I were dating long distance, which is a special sort of torture even for those who love each other deeply. I only had a few months left, then I’d be back, and here your dad was going off and making a decision for the two of us.

Although I couldn’t entirely blame him, as I’d left him for a South Korea adventure in the first place.

But that’s a story for another day.

Second, and most importantly, stealing isn’t the “right thing” to do, Amira.

“Thou shall not steal.”

At least that’s what the 10 Commandments said and what the Catholic teachers drilled into my soft little mind every Wednesday night from the time I was 7 to 13 years old.

Then again, they also told me animals didn’t go to Heaven.

(Or, as you call it right now, Kevin.) 

And I highly doubted that, since I couldn’t imagine any human on earth having that sort of intel.

Yet here I was being soaked by a wave of irrational Catholic guilt as your dad told me exactly how he stole this dog off the neighbor’s back porch. 

The funny thing is…

The more I listened to your dad’s story, the more I realized I wasn’t mad your dad stole the dog.

I didn’t even think your dad was a bad person for doing it.

Really, I was pissed off because every day your father was proving to be a better human than me. 

You see…

Everyone always thought I was the “nice girl.”

The “good girl.”

Your dad was the unpredictable artist type. He was outspoken, always. He was the one who had the dreaded mohawk. He was the one that got in bar fights. I mean, there was a reason bartenders had nicknamed him K-DAK, King of the Dirty Art Kids. 

But the truth is…

Your dad was the good person, and he didn’t need a Bible to tell him to be.

He always just relied on his own mind.

He always questioned the rules and then made his own.

Sure, when your dad was young, this caused him (and his mother) a lot of grief.

Being a drug dealer and growing mushrooms in your basement isn’t well advised.

(Although I’m pretty sure it taught your dad some valuable entrepreneurial lessons.)

And stealing and wrecking your father’s car at 15 can get you arrested…

But… 

Once you hone this skill of taking risks…

And THINKING FOR YOURSELF…

It helps you understand the world in a way books, people, parents, or a teacher NEVER can. 

More than anything…

It gives you a sense of integrity and honesty that no one can manipulate, buy, or bribe away.

That’s why that day… 

Your dad stole without an ounce of guilt.

Because even though your dad stole someone’s dog, he did the right thing.

You see, Amira…

That little dog had been left out alone on the neighbor’s porch for months.

The owners had tied him up outside with a heavy 5-foot-long metal chain to keep him from running away.

His whole life existed in those 5 feet…

The owners rarely went outside to see him, play with him, or even feed him.

They left the little puppy out in 12 inches of snow.

They left that little puppy out when it rained and stormed.…

And from what your dad could tell, they fed him maybe once every other day or so.

Most of the time the little fluffy puppy just sat outside on the porch, tied up, whimpering.

Sometimes, the dog would get fed up and bark.

That’s probably on days when they forgot to feed him. 

That’s when the owners would come out and give him a good kick and then go back inside.

The hot summer was coming soon, and I think your dad was worried the dog would die.

Then, one night, your dad heard the puppy crying outside, and he’d had enough.

So your dad took a shot of tequila and devised his plan.

(A not very well-thought-out plan but a plan.)

The neighbors lived on the top floor of a duplex of sorts, so your dad knew he was going to have to climb up the side of the back porch in order to get the dog. (There were no stairs in the back.) 

So he did…

He scaled up the side of the porch, like Spiderman without the webs. 

Naturally, the little puppy barked. 

And it’s a good thing the neighbors didn’t care that much.

Otherwise they may have caught your dad.

Instead, your dad untied the dog, scooped him up, and started to climb back down the side of the porch.

But just as he was almost down, the dog jumped out of his arms.

Your dad jumped after him, spraining his ankle.

The dog ran in circles around him, probably thrilled to be free for the first time in months.

Finally, your dad caught him and brought him into his house. 

Your dad said the dog felt like a bag of bones.

His hair was so matted his skin was bleeding. 

The next day, your dad took this dog to your grandma Yaya’s so the neighbors wouldn’t find out. 

Then your dad moved out to a new place the next week.

Now at this point in the letter, Amira, you might have figured it out. 

You might understand that this puppy I’m telling you about is in fact your dog, Boo.

This is how Boo became part of the family.

And I know this is weird to say…

But it was also the moment I knew I wanted to be with your dad forever – or as long as we could.

Because he proved to be the kind of person I wanted to be too. 

“I can’t believe you stole the dog,” I said again, still struggling to push down the bullshit Catholic guilt I knew was worthless. 

Your dad put Boo in his overalls, like parents put babies in those stupid backpacks and then he said…

“I didn’t steal him. I liberated him.” 

You see, Amira…

Your dad taught me that doing the right thing doesn't always look the way you think it should. 

Sometimes you gotta steal a dog to give it a better life.

Or a life at all for that matter.

It's up to you, Amira, to define "the right thing" for yourself. 

My only advice…

Just try not to get arrested in the process.