I'm utterly disappointed. Bummed, bummed, bummed. We were supposed to have this awesome visit, this amazing time together where we, like, reconnected after years of geography and growing up separating us. But you canceled on me.
Part of me wants to be angry with you. Dude, you picked these dates yourself. We set it up more than a month ago, deal binding handshakes were had, Monopoly trash talking began, I spent $100 on train tickets. And now you're stuck working in Virginia for an extra 2 days. Couldn't you just have said no? Couldn't you have told them, look, family comes first? Couldn't you have pointed out to them that you're not even supposed to be down there, that you're supposed to be doing the management training? Ugh. And then, as I'm trying to fix our visit by proposing you swing over to Philly on your way up and we hang for a day or two, you're not returning my phone calls. AGAIN. Probably because you think I'm angry at you. And also because you like to withdraw.
But then you send me texts messages that say, "55 hours a week plus travel. My life sucks." And, "I'm sorry, cuz. I love you. You were always the smart one." And then another part of me wants to shake you by the shoulders and scream, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself! If you don't like your life, then CHANGE it!"
But the biggest part of me isn't angry with you at all. The biggest part of me is worried. Because I know that you are severely unhappy. Because I know you feel stuck and don't know how to change it. Because I want to hug you and help you figure out how to fix it all. Because I wish we could go back to when you were "Micheal Seeeeeeeger!" (or if I was excited "MichealSeeeegerMichaelSeeeeeger!"). To when we would do flying leaps off of Aunt Mary R's porch, pretending we were jumping off mountain tops. To when we would play nerf football in Mom-Mom's development parking lot even though I hated football and would always loose. To when we would have weekend-long Monopoly tournaments because it was the only game Mom-Mom had besides Don't Talk To Strangers! and admit it, Crime Dog McGruff lost his appeal before you got through the first block. To when you and I would hide in the closet hoping that your parents wouldn't find us and would forget you in Lebanon when they went back to Pittsburgh, thus leaving you with me forever. To when we would build forts around Aunt Mary R.'s 70's furry chocolate brown couch and sneak Jello pudding pops and Cheeze Balls down there. To when Uncle Butch and Aunt Mary had those parties and we would climb the willow tree in the front yard and take big glasses of birch beer from the 1/4 keg and drink them down all cold and sweet before dashing off for more hours of running around the yard pretending we were having wild adventures and catching fire flies.
I want all of that back and I know you do too.
Aunt Janet says she thinks you're embarrassed for not finishing college and for being "behind" in life, whatever that means, it's not like it's a race or anything. I guess that may be part of it. But I also think that so much of it has to do with when Mom-Mom died. That's when you stopped coming to Thanksgiving. You haven't been back to Lebanon since. Oh sure, you've visited Aunt Mary and Uncle Kevin's a couple of times, but they lived in Carlise and now Camp Hill. Not Lebanon. Not since she died. I miss her too.
I really miss her, too.
Other people in our family have written you off for never being around and for flaking out of family events. And I gotta say, you make it easy for them. Hell, you're making it easy for me now. But I will never do that. I can never do that. Because you're my Michael Seeeeeeeger and you always will be. I refuse to give up on you. And I'm stubborn, man. You're not going to shake me. Because you're a close link to my past, and I believe you're going to be important to my future. Because we're cousins, first cousins and as we used to say, first is the best kind there is. Because I feel a bond and connection with you and I refuse to sever it.
Because I love you. Please be happy. I want you to be happy.
P.S. -- Nice shorts, man.
Part of me wants to be angry with you. Dude, you picked these dates yourself. We set it up more than a month ago, deal binding handshakes were had, Monopoly trash talking began, I spent $100 on train tickets. And now you're stuck working in Virginia for an extra 2 days. Couldn't you just have said no? Couldn't you have told them, look, family comes first? Couldn't you have pointed out to them that you're not even supposed to be down there, that you're supposed to be doing the management training? Ugh. And then, as I'm trying to fix our visit by proposing you swing over to Philly on your way up and we hang for a day or two, you're not returning my phone calls. AGAIN. Probably because you think I'm angry at you. And also because you like to withdraw.
But then you send me texts messages that say, "55 hours a week plus travel. My life sucks." And, "I'm sorry, cuz. I love you. You were always the smart one." And then another part of me wants to shake you by the shoulders and scream, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself! If you don't like your life, then CHANGE it!"
But the biggest part of me isn't angry with you at all. The biggest part of me is worried. Because I know that you are severely unhappy. Because I know you feel stuck and don't know how to change it. Because I want to hug you and help you figure out how to fix it all. Because I wish we could go back to when you were "Micheal Seeeeeeeger!" (or if I was excited "MichealSeeeegerMichaelSeeeeeger!"). To when we would do flying leaps off of Aunt Mary R's porch, pretending we were jumping off mountain tops. To when we would play nerf football in Mom-Mom's development parking lot even though I hated football and would always loose. To when we would have weekend-long Monopoly tournaments because it was the only game Mom-Mom had besides Don't Talk To Strangers! and admit it, Crime Dog McGruff lost his appeal before you got through the first block. To when you and I would hide in the closet hoping that your parents wouldn't find us and would forget you in Lebanon when they went back to Pittsburgh, thus leaving you with me forever. To when we would build forts around Aunt Mary R.'s 70's furry chocolate brown couch and sneak Jello pudding pops and Cheeze Balls down there. To when Uncle Butch and Aunt Mary had those parties and we would climb the willow tree in the front yard and take big glasses of birch beer from the 1/4 keg and drink them down all cold and sweet before dashing off for more hours of running around the yard pretending we were having wild adventures and catching fire flies.
I want all of that back and I know you do too.
Aunt Janet says she thinks you're embarrassed for not finishing college and for being "behind" in life, whatever that means, it's not like it's a race or anything. I guess that may be part of it. But I also think that so much of it has to do with when Mom-Mom died. That's when you stopped coming to Thanksgiving. You haven't been back to Lebanon since. Oh sure, you've visited Aunt Mary and Uncle Kevin's a couple of times, but they lived in Carlise and now Camp Hill. Not Lebanon. Not since she died. I miss her too.
I really miss her, too.
Other people in our family have written you off for never being around and for flaking out of family events. And I gotta say, you make it easy for them. Hell, you're making it easy for me now. But I will never do that. I can never do that. Because you're my Michael Seeeeeeeger and you always will be. I refuse to give up on you. And I'm stubborn, man. You're not going to shake me. Because you're a close link to my past, and I believe you're going to be important to my future. Because we're cousins, first cousins and as we used to say, first is the best kind there is. Because I feel a bond and connection with you and I refuse to sever it.
Because I love you. Please be happy. I want you to be happy.
P.S. -- Nice shorts, man.
Labels: Open Letters
1 Comments:
Aw, Miss K., I'm sorry.
Are you around for a cheer-up lunch? I can rally the troops of your choosing!
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