Now that I know you're old enough, and have the technological resources to Google me and you, I'll just go ahead and be real: I'm talkin'to you here (you and Memphis and Evelyn and Gideon - all y'all are what is called my "Progeny.")
I started this before you were born because I'm an all Machiavellian old-school Irish Catholic girl and I'm always thinking this could be the last thing I get to say.
I'm going to live so far beyond your wildest expectations, that you'll be thinking, 'Dang. I got stuff to do, but Momo's still over here... all chattin'me up..." You'll survive. Just gimme a sec.
I got you these three, today. I love you and see you changing the way we do stuff here, so stay woke, Sunshine. Pay attention. Sit up straight.
Mind your posture, and gimme a hot second or two...
|Uncle Jonathon Does What He Says|
|Papa Z never said he'd do This, but he did it anyways.|
three Speak to yourself like you would speak to an itsy-bitsy baby, if you ever found an itsy-bitsy baby swaddled in flannel blankets, like IF you were on your way to school one day, and you found a perfectly swell swaddled baby.
Hold yourself tight and remind you that you are the most beautiful human that you've ever seen. Your strength is going to bring you things that your cold little nose hasn't even smelled yet. Tell you how smart and clever and emotionally tall you are. Look into those incredible blue eyes and know that there are only about 20 of us on the planet, with THOSE eyes and all. We see things.
I love you, man. I try to be taller and cleaner and smarter and more clever than all the other Momos, on your behalf.
I think we should NOT screw this up, together. It'd be a great story.....
*YOUR DNA, omg. I'm equal parts Sorry/NotSorry. Truth is, dude - I know you're short and all, so I don't wanna give you too much to chew on, but maaaaaaaaaaaan, WE don't die. OUR people can go down in airplanes, drive cars into utility poles, roll with 8 rounds of radiation for cancer, buy Twinkies at a convenience store AFTER having been shot AND stabbed, plow fields with broken bones and exceed expectations on all counts. So: IF you think you wanna be all dramatic and give up like Scarlet O'Hara - you're a tree falling in an empty forest. None of us hear that, baby. Buck up. We gotta thang to do here.
PS: Call anytime: Your dad has my digits.