Letter to me

As I was folding laundry, I was listening to music. The song “Letter to Me” by Brad Paisley came on and it got me thinking. Before you make a face and ask yourself, “country music, really?” understand my mother was born and raised in Memphis, Tennessee. From my mother, I grew up on Elvis (she met him), country artists such as Patsy Kline and Johnny Paycheck, and Motown greats such as The Commodores and The Temptations. From my dad, I grew up on classical music, soft rock like Simon and Garfunlkel and James Taylor, and folk music of the 60s and 70s with The Mamas and The Papas and The Beach Boys, just to name some of the artists. In fact, my parents had the Beatles white album (not the collector’s-worth-money edition). But I digress. First, one last piece of my musical history. I played classical violin from 4th-12th grade. I was mediocre at best, so my father not-so-politely asked me to practice when he wasn’t home because I butchered some of his favorite classical pieces. My father got a ticket subscription to the NY Philharmonic as a single man in his 20’s because in his words “it made a nice date” (my mother kept the subscription up for several years after my father died and as a result of keeping the subscription even after his dating ended, I got to hear pieces as they were supposed to sound). Now back to my thinking. Before the advent of email, we wrote letters— thank you notes, pen pal letters, and even letters to express an apology or clarify words said to a friend or family member as a means to mend the relationship. And the last example was definitely a letter until Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone and we could call up our best friend and apologize. So here was my thought, what if I went back in time to a situation that left an indelible mark on me and wrote a letter to me about it. I created my own credit card at age 6 and used it to pay for a family dinner (my father and the other father split the bill on the sly). Therefore, I have decided to write my 6 y.o. self a letter on why this fun childhood story has a ” no-fun” aftermath and asking my 6 y.o. self to forgive the adults for not explaining at the time how credit cards work (you do need to pay the bill in the end).