Letter #3

January 22nd

Dear Tom,

On occasion of your fortieth birthday let me be the first to congratulate you. You have lived to a significant milestone, and I am proud both of what you have become and for how you have achieved it. For the occasion I would like to clear the air of some things that have been bothering me these years, and ask your understanding if not forgiveness.

My earliest memory of you is on a summer day, when you were still a baby - maybe eighteen months old. You were in an enclosed playyard in the living room. I was on the front porch, and the front door was open so mom could see and hear you. I think she was gardening in the front. Anyway you were in there drooling and playing with your toys, which I could see from the porch. The playyard (we called it a playpen) was yellow, white and green in that 70s way, and even though it was several years old it still smelled like fresh plastic. I couldn't believe my good fortune that you had been left all alone, so I went inside and put one of your baby blankets over the top of the playpen. You looked up at me while I did this, then out through the mesh walls like you wanted to play. Some of your toys were on the carpet by me, outside the playpen. I took an alphabet block and showed it to you, then threw it up in an arch over your head. I remember you looked up. It landed in the middle of the blanket, collapsing the makeshift roof on top of you. This made you laugh, which was not my intent, so I threw another block, and another. I don't think I ever hit you, but I do remember mom coming in and grabbing my wrist just after I threw the last block. Pulling me back to the entry hall she told me never to do that again; that I could have given you brain damage. After that, whenever you would act weird I would get worried that I had damaged your brain. Now that you have survived to middle age I can finally let go of this guilt. 

My next memory of you isn't my own memory, but rather a remembered story that mom and dad liked to tell. For some reason, they had bought you a car for your birthday. I think it was red and yellow, and shaped like a VW Beetle. I didn't (and still don't) know why they got you this car when all I had was a rocking horse - on springs - that didn't even move unless you got someone to pull the frame while I rode it, and anyway I still had to share that horse with you even after you got the car, but we can probably chalk that up to new parenting mistakes. Be that as it may, you still ended up with a new car and all I had was the horse. You were not very good at driving your car. You would basically go in circles, very slowly, until you slipped forward out of the driver's seat and under the front wheels. Even though you were as tall as I was, you still weren't coordinated. I am guessing our ages were 5 and 3. I tried to show you how to steer the car, and make it go in a straight line, but you wouldn't let me. So when you (finally) left the basement play room (to have a snack?) I got into your car. I must have tried to wait for you to come back, but inevitably I gave up and just smashed your car into the wall, repeatedly. I don't remember if you were in the room when I did this, or if mom and dad were there, just that I did permanent damage to the car and got into a lot of trouble. I know you didn't deserve that, and as you got older you definitely became more coordinated, so I should have just had patience. I know that now, and I am sorry.

For many years I had dreams that I was beating you up, but you were laughing at me. I would hit you, smash you, jump on you, pull a bookshelf down onto you, yet you would just smile back at me like it didn't matter. Those dreams have stopped now, the last one maybe ten years ago, so I think we can say all this competition is firmly behind us now.

We have already spoken at length of the alleged stolen bike from Farells, and needn't trouble ourselves with a recounting here. Suffice it to say you got a new bike, and nobody went to jail for theft or conspiracy. I suppose that now you are a police officer you could look up the official records of the theft report, but surely it would be best to let the situation lie.

There are a few more loose ends I would like to wrap up quickly: it was me who ate your Halloween candy in 1976 and 1977; some of your Hot Wheels cars did end up in steel vice grips; I took the plastic monkey from you that dinner at the beach; you did not get your fair share of nickels at the nickel arcade, because you would just waste them anyway; and finally, I did not see you and Octobra together on the playground, despite what I told your friends.

I hope you are well, and that you have no more headaches.

Love,
~