A Letter to My Son before his Third Birthday

Dear Son,

You are almost three years old. I can’t believe it. Time has gone by so quickly. It was only yesterday that your mother squeezed you out in a drug-induced haze and I held you in my arms, a stranger covered in goo. “They could at least run a sponge over him,” I remember thinking. It was all so magical.

And now? You’re running around, talking with an odd Austro-American accent that’s not always easy to understand. It’s so magical. (And it would take a magician to figure out what you’re saying with that accent!)

As you get older, I’m sure you’ll have lots of questions for me. You’re marching out in the wild world with a ferocious curiosity that can only be described as magical. Why is the sky blue, you’ll be wondering. Why is there war?

Well, that’s just great. But for now, I have a question for you:

Where did you put my computer mouse?

It’s been missing for several weeks now and I’ve spent every weekend looking for it and it just doesn’t seem to be anywhere. I know you like it. I’ve seen the way you look at it, hungrily, with bad intentions.

I need the mouse, son. It helps me organise my iTunes library and any number of other essential tasks. I know you don’t respect my hobbies. Shoot, I don’t even respect them. They’re a waste of time and I know that one day I’ll be 78 and wish I could have that time back.

But for now, I need that mouse back. So where did you put it? I looked in that pile of toys growing in the corner of what used to be my office. It’s not in there. That’s where it would be if I still had that office, but now you have it, don’t you. You have the office. And all you do is sleep in there. I used to organise my iTunes library in there!

And it’s not just the mouse, is it, son. So many things have gone missing since you arrived three years ago, covered in that goo I mentioned and just grabbing everything in sight. Grabbing it, putting it away in one of your hiding places.

Why did I find my phone in your mother’s boot?

Why did I find my credit card in that purse you carry around?

Why do you have hiding places? What secrets are you keeping?!

I don’t mind you carry around a purse. I can see how useful it is. Shoot, sometimes I wish I had a purse. These tight jeans I’m wearing don’t leave a lot of room for my wallet, keys, phone, wine guide and blackjack rules.

But my credit card doesn’t belong in your purse. It just doesn’t. You’re almost three-years-old and should understand that by now. I think. I don’t actually know what you’re supposed to understand by now. I can’t read those books your mother reads. I still need to organise my iTunes library. It’s growing so fast!

Is this your way of telling me you want me to stop working on my computer? Or is this just your way of saying you want your own computer mouse? Because you have your own computer mouse. A few of them. Yes, they’re old and broken, but ask yourself, how did they get that way? Stumped? Well, I’ll tell you. You broke them. You dragged them around and smashed them up real nice.

And I’m worried that you’re going to do the same thing to my mouse.

I’m worried and I’m scared.




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