Dear colonial Kevin who hates tomatoes

October 9, 2012 § Leave a comment

Kevin,

It’s Kevin.  No, not the redhead Kevin that lives next door, but you, ten years down the road.

You want proof?  Well oddly enough I remember where you were this week in 2002.  You are currently in Glens Falls, New York visiting Mom’s family.  But be careful, because you fall out of a bunk bed and get a mean black eye.  Keep strong though, you’ll look tough.  Grandme will be furious, but you can’t avoid that.

More proof?  Gosh, you are a toughie, here’s the picture of you at Disney not that long ago.

Ah… now it all clicks.

Well, I won’t spoil what happens for you, but I might as well give you some tidbits that I wish I had realized sooner:

I know you just moved back to Williamsburg, Virginia and you’re already weirded out by colonial people on cell phones (too early?) and driving cars, but don’t make fun of it too much.  You’ll come to miss it when you leave (Won’t tell you where, but it’s not too shabby).  The history is corny, and all the tourists are nuisances (wait until you drive behind them, you do pass driving test with Coach Caccetta).  But the quaint little town is your awkward little hometown.  You live on the first American river in the first district of the United States.  It’s a conversation piece, as you will always have someone ask, “is your father a blacksmith?”  And I mean, you can hear Busch Gardens and Water Country from your house, come on!

Historical anachronism in Wiliamsburg?

Next up, your sisters… you’re the youngest, so you’ve got it made.  They’re jealous you get to stay at home the longest.  And while I should tell you to be nice to them, don’t.  Pick on them all you can.  Annoy the hell out of them.  Be the obnoxious little Kevin I know you can be cause it makes you all the more close later on.  And I think it’s our responsibility at some point to be the squirrely little bro, and you’re at the stage where it’s not so frowned upon. Also:

Read Harry Potter, trust me.

Tennis isn’t as bad as you think.

You like tomatoes.

And avocado.

Love,

Kev

P.S. Don’t let Grandme put a steak on the eye.

 

 

 

 

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