Letter 29

Dear, You

I tried to read, but your mom wanted to sit on matching chairs on the patio. We bonded over intestinal issues, social anxiety, and repeatedly giving into pizza despite our best efforts. You know, the important stuff. She gushed about you being a great dad. And anyone that knows you , would agree with that. Somewhere between rusty beat up cars and cutting a rug in our own living room, she said “No wonder you two are such a good match, you fit right in”. And that meant everything to me.

After dinner time and prime time TV, you went out to finish getting your hands dirty. I stayed still in my seat. We talked mostly of frivolous things. I wanted them to understand that I was comfortable inside their home, without you. But I missed you out there, and eventually stood to leave. As I did, your mom said, “You know we have chairs…”

I laughed, “I know, thank you. But I prefer reading my book on that old tire.”

And your dad added, “Nothin, better.”

Ain’t that the truth, that old tire and you.

Love, Me