So listen. I was going to surprise you and fly to Lafayette, but Ashlie beat me to it. And what’s worse, she brought an adorable grandkid. I can’t top that. (Although, if I came home with a grandkid, you would be surprised.)
Then I thought I’d make you a book and mail one page at a time for 60 days. That seemed grand. Except, I started calculating the postage and it added up. It’s not that you’re not worth $29.40, it’s just that I also don’t have 60 envelopes.
After that, there wasn’t much time because I’d put all my thought into the buying a plane ticket and the piecemealed book idea. And The Walking Dead is back on, so that ate up some time (pun intended).
I decided, that maybe I wasn’t playing to my strengths. My strength is writing (yes, and eating. Thanks. That’s hilarious, Dad.). I considered writing something sweet along side my favorite picture of us on Facebook, but then I remembered you don’t have Facebook (which I still completely support by the way).
So then what? A card? That seems too simple. Not your style. And also, I should have mailed it days ago. So here we are. And while this may not be the most private of ways to wish you a happy birthday, I think it can only increase your fan club after Rinse the Damn Dish (from and the floor was always lava, on sale now!).
People will be like, wait, is that the same Dad that had all those rules in your book? And I’ll be like, yeah, Dude, I only have one Dad. And then they’ll be like, so is your book still for sale? And I’ll be like yeah, in both paperback and ebook formats via all major online retailers (on sale this holiday season).
So here we are, Dad. You with your brand new renewed license and me with too much time on my hands. Today, on your 60th birthday, I hope this brings you joy, laughter, and slight discomfort. For that is the Junot way.
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One. I loved hearing all the stories about the women you dated including Betty Crocker. I loved hearing how you proposed to Mom. I loved the way you reenacted it in front of all of us without her even knowing. I loved that we have always had a part in your love story.
Two. I hate when you try to flirt with Mom in front of us. It makes me nauseous.
Three. Do you remember the morning we were running late for camp or school or something of that nature, but you insisted we eat breakfast? You made a table out of a cardboard box with holes for our legs to slide under and rings for our cups of chocolate milk so we could eat in the car. It was not a time-saver in the least, but it was my favorite day.