An Open Letter to My Family
I’m sick and tired of missing you. I thought I would be over it by now, but I should have known better.
I found a video today of you last year, little brother, from before you got your hair cut. You were setting up your foundry with the propane torches. That was the first time you melted metal and poured it into your sea shell sand mold. You were in your striped shirt and plaid pants and fireproof gloves, umbrella on your shoulder to hold off the drizzle. I wasn’t home that day, I was already across the sea.
I’ve been listening to your Spotify playlist over and over. As much as I protested over the years when you tried to usurp my elder sibling rights to play music in the car, you have good taste. Don’t hold that over my head.
You might not like the idea, but I can’t help it: when I miss you, I start bragging on you. Pretty sure everyone here thinks you’re a supergenius, which isn’t that far off the truth. They know the math equation you came up with in kindergarten and your infuriating manner of being good at pretty much everything you put your mind to.
Mom and Dad get the same treatment. You’re young and cool and cultured in my stories. Dad, I haven’t told that story about you accidentally wearing your house slippers to the airport in ages. Instead, I tell about the sailboat dream you still hold, all the places you’ve been, and your love of rock climbing. Mom, you are the stories’ hero. I write in the journal you got me almost every day. (I do have a treasure trove of weird stories about your families, though. I use those with wild abandon.)
Our traditions matter more to me than I thought. I’m going to try to keep Anti-Valentine’s-Day alive by watching Gladiator if I have the time. There will be a lot of pointing and going, “I’ve been there!” Who knew visiting the same Roman amphitheater a dozen times would come with such great bragging rights?
Calling is hard when you’re going to bed when I get out of class, but I’m glad we can manage it as much as we do. Hopefully spring will come to Chicagoland and the last vestiges of gray, lumpy snow will finally vanish and I can take walks with you again. Be sure to go for a walk on your end, too, on our long loop around the neighborhood, past CCA and the embassies and the long-gone Joker graffiti.
On this Anti-Valentine’s-Day, I just wanted to remind you that I miss you, I love you, and I’ll see you again.
Love,
Danae