A Letter To My Son

Fall '16

Well son, I knew this day would come. It’s uncomfortable, sure, but every man has to have this talk at some point. Hell, I remember when my dad sat me down to have this chat. I remember feeling confused, adrift even, but there’s no use tiptoeing around it. I’m sure you’ve noticed a change in me, so I’ll just come right out and say it: from here on out, I’m going be wearing these teeny tiny reading glasses.

Yes, I know this will be a change, but I’m still your old man! When I’m cheering you on in the stands, watching you shoot hoops, just pay no mind to the teeny weeny readers perched on my noggin. And I’m sure you’ve noticed that these may not be the most “dignified” frames—but who am I? A regular old Barry Goldwater? Hell no. I bought these flimsy, peewee plastic frames at the CVS on Central like my father and his father before him. That’s how men buy their readers, men who fold their glasses into the collar of their shirt and get back to workin’ on the site. Tiny wisps of plastic, that’s the way.

Son, I hope you won’t think of me any differently. I hope you know that you can still count on me. I hope that this change won’t rattle you like the divorce might. If anything, these readers oughtta expedite the process now that I can read the legal papers! Ha!

Let me know if you have any questions, any at all.

Thanks a million,