Dance Like No One's Watching, Sing Like No One's Listening

Dear Kan and Aaron:

You’ll probably find this blog one day—Kan, you’ll have googled yourself and since no one else in the world is named after a Mexican card game, there won’t be any trouble.

I’m sorry our family is escaped from an asylum. To save yourself years of searching on a therapist couch, please know that they are CRAZY. Confirmed deranged and misguided. But yes, they also do love you behind all the incoherent animal sounds and frantic gestures. And now that you know it, we can all go out and have a drink. I will be 44.

Not that I’ve particularly modeled sanity either. Sorry for charging into your room in the morning all wild-eyed, only to yank you out of bed and throw the clothes you DO NOT WANT TO WEAR at you, and shouting NO TIME!! NO TIME!! I worry this has affected you. All day, you ask nervously what time it is, if we’re running late, if we’re wasting time. Aaron, you wanted to skip wearing socks one day because it was a waste of time. At which point, I think I pointed out that crying about whether or not to wear socks was the real waste of time. God, I’m sorry. Kan, you wolf down your food so that your throat makes odd noises of protest and catch me looking at you funny. I’m only worried about you choking, that’s why I watch so closely.


I think Mamie’s worried about my sanity after you guys leave. And by that I think she’s worried about being subjected to some obscene exhibition of grief. She’s planning a trip. To Charleston. All this to say: I know you don’t want to go, and I’m sorry. I don’t want you to go either, but am hoping wildly this is best. And in case it’s not best, I am teaching you to set up your own email account so you can get in touch.

Oh, and this post title? It’s ironic. I am not actually clasping my hands to my chest and lisping sincerely at you. And at this point, you're probably wanting to shout out the truths that would make me look v. sentimental and silly, but this is my blog and no one can hear your incriminating revelations. Thing is, I’ve been trying to teach you irony for months, but you just keep looking at me and smiling, in the way that people look and smile when they don’t speak the same language. Anyway, it’s how cool people get out of untoward displays of emotion—a joke, a funny little bow, a sidestep off stage.