Dear Max,
I hadn’t written this week, (for a variety of reasons), but figured interaction with your youth, innocence, and perfection might jumpstart my day. So get up Prince! Jump out of that crib—I know you can…and read this. (And don’t play that possum with me. I know you’re not sleeping and sense too that even at nine months you can read. It’s in the genes— your four grandparents, after all, were educators.
First off, I miss you. ‘ Can’t wait to see you! Your Dad says you follow him around the house now. To think, a month ago we begged you to crawl!
As you know, Uncle Hal’s operation was Tuesday. If all goes well he’ll come home tomorrow. They’ve got him in a luxury room at UH, complete with computer in the TV and a fold-out couch. How excited was I Wednesday as he invited me to sleep over? I figured on sock basketball and just hanging out (with maid service). Thursday though, he changed his mind. May sound like nothing to you, but wait ‘til you have a brother. Anyway, we pray he busts out soon. You should see him traipse around that hospital bent over. To use HIS words, he looks like Arte Johnson from the old “Laugh In” show.
My brother has so many friends that love him and care about him. Aunt Margie updates the many by email; I phone Grandma Harriet and hold daily press conferences with your (excuse the expression) Great Great Aunt Helen. Your grandmother, of course, says Thanks for each call; your aunt, no doubt, complains. Go figure.
It’s been that kind of week. Work, Uncle H by day; “Lost” or “Dan Patrick” by night…and a bit, I suppose, of writer’s block.
I had a great conversation with your parents, though. Just last night. Hysterical. Concern gripped your Mom as we spoke of my getting a tuxedo for Cousin Jillian’s wedding. I guess she’s afraid I’ll show up in a paisley jacket with a vertical-striped cummerbund or something.
“This is going to be a disaster!” she proclaimed as your Dad all the while searched on line for an outfit to email me that I might order it in Cleveland today. What’s that they say that the child is father to the man?
Oh well, I feel better now…having shared with you. I’m connected again— full of, (as Grandpa Al would say), “piss and vinegar.”
Say hi to your parents and the whole mishpecha. See you all soon.
And mark your calendar, by the way, for November 6, 2026. It’s the first Friday after you turn sixteen and I figure you can take Aunt Helen shopping. After all, you’ll have your license then. It’s in the genes, you know. Your four grandparents, after all, were also drivers.
Love, Grandpa B
You feel better now…having shared with Max and are connected again. I feel better now having read today’s musings. Thanks.
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