To Me

Dear Roger,

I hope this letter finds you in time. Maybe 21 is too late. 18 seems too early to me, and by 30, I can tell, it is way too late. So I figured 21. Let’s see, I just turned 10, and it is August 10, 1961. So if I figure this right, I will be 21 on August 10, 1972. So please open this on August 10, 1972. I will write that on the envelope. “Important! Open on August 10, 1972. Not before. And not after.”

I am worried because I see all of the adults around me, and none of them are happy. I don’t get it really. They have plenty of money and stuff, but you can tell they aren’t happy. They yell at people for doing normal things, like tracking mud in the house, or dripping ice cream on the floor. I mean, right? Who cares about that? I hope you don’t care about these things. If you do, then I am too late.

So here’s the thing. My friends are happy, all of them. Even Sarah, who is already 12. I don’t mean we are happy every minute, but most of the time. There are so many cool things, like goofy dogs and crazy cats and rain and mud to play in and the Good Humor ice cream man who has vanilla cones with chocolate coating and red sprinkles. How can you not be happy with all of this? 

But everybody I know who is more than 30 is not happy. Like Uncle Jim, who yells at the dogs for licking him. And Aunt Rosie, who yells at the cats for getting on the sofa. And Mom and Dad who yell at me for dripping ice cream on the floor and tracking mud in the house, I only dripped ice cream on the floor once. Okay, maybe twice. if you eat ice cream cones, you’re gonna drip some on the floor. If you play in the mud, you’re gonna track some in the house. Everybody knows that.

So I figure that someplace between 12 and 30, something goes wrong. Happy people become angry people. They go from seeing the mud to seeing the tracks. They go from eating the ice cream to being afraid it will drip. They go from laughing at cats to yelling at them. They go from hugging dogs to not wanting to be licked. People go from being kids to being adults.

I think I figured out the problem. They don’t have anybody to warn them about the change. They don’t have anybody to remind them that it is okay to drip ice cream on the floor, or track mud in the living room, or for the cats to sit on the sofa or for dogs to lick you. Isn’t that what a sofa is for? To sit on? Isn’t that why dogs have such big tongues? To lick people? If I had a tongue that big, I’d lick everybody! Wouldn’t you?

So I had this idea. I’m going to warn you, before it’s too late. Because if you don’t know what’s happening. you will become just like them. And you are me. So if you become like them, I will become like them. I don’t want to be like them, so you better hear what I’m saying.

So you listen to this now. 

It is okay for dogs to lick you. That’s how they show they love you.

It is okay for cats to get on your sofa. That’s where they feel close to you.

It is okay to track mud in the house. It is easy to clean up.

It is okay to drip some of your ice cream cone on the floor, especially if it is chocolate coated with red sparkles.

Have you got all that? This is important. You need to figure out how not to become unhappy, like them. 

Now go get yourself a chocolate coated ice cream cone with red sprinkles and drip some on the floor. Go outside and play in the mud and track some in the house. And if you don’t have a dog, go get one now. One with a big, wet, slobbery tongue that will cover you in dog kisses everytime you come home. 

That’s what I wanted to tell you. Remember when you were me. I’m counting on you.

Did you get all that? Oh yes. One more thing. Happy Birthday.

Sincerely,

Roger (10 years old)

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I put the letter back in its yellowed envelope. It’s the letter I read every August 10, for fifty years now. I look over at George and Gracie, who are lounging on my sofa soaking up the sun. I call Charlie, who walks over and gives me a big slobbery kiss. I put Charlie’s harness on her, and we go out to complete the rest of my birthday ritual: to find a chocolate coated vanilla ice cream cone with red sprinkles, and a mud puddle. You can guess what happens next.

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Spiritual questions:

• What do you need to remember?
• Is it too late?

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April 8, 2021 - This was written with the Roundhouse Writing Group in Santa Cruz, Guatemala, remotely from Guanajuato, Mexico. The writing prompt for the session was: Write a letter to your 21 year old self.

This is one of my Parables for the Spiritual but not Religious Series.

The photograph is by Annette Dubois and made available through Flickr and Creative Commons, some rights may be reserved.

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