The Letter

When I was a little kid, my mother use to leave me notes in my lunch box.

That’s how the letter started.

The letter came my way 8400 days ago.

Exactly.

On August 8.

1988.

8-8-88.

Not only a great poker hand.

But a really important date in my life.

That was the day my college roommate.

My brother from another mother.

Reminded me that I was loved.

The notes would say things like “good luck on your test today” or “Hi, just wanted to let you know that I was thinking of you.”

I basically grew up as an only child.

A lonely child.

My parents divorced when I was 12.

I had a half-brother.

But he was 14 years older than me.

So no matter what age I was.

He was always at a different place in his life.

Fortunately for me, that hole was filled when I got to college.

Our friendship is one that I really do cherish.  I am really happy and proud for you with this tremendous opportunity that you have.

That tremendous opportunity was going to the 1988 Olympics.


In Seoul, Korea.

Not as an athlete.

You are funny.

As a TV producer.

It was the trip of a lifetime.

Especially for a 21-year old.

And my friend wanted to make sure that as I headed to the other side of the world.

For three months.

I was well aware of what I was leaving behind.

So he wrote me the letter.

I know that you’ll be busy, but I will be thinking of you constantly while you’re gone.

It’s one thing for someone to say nice words.

It’s another thing to write them.

In a letter.

A 178 word letter.

Talk about a lost art.

Nowadays you are lucky to get 140 characters.

Not 140 words.

It meant a lot that the message was coming straight from his heart.

But it meant even more that he took the time to write it.

These notes meant a lot to me and would help give me confidence if I was having a rough day.

We met at freshman orientation.

And hit it off right away.

We both liked sports.

We both liked girls.

He was good with girls.

I was good with sports.

We graduated 20+ years ago.

And we still talk almost every day.

In fact we spoke today for quite a while.

Well I’m 22 now and my mom no longer makes my lunch, but I still have those notes.  I even keep one of them in my wallet so it is with me all of the time.

He's not 22 anymore.

And neither am I.  

Double that.

But my kids still call him Uncle.

Even when he is not twisting their arm.

And he has always treated them like one of his own.

Something he didn’t have.

Until last week.

Last Saturday morning.

3:39 in the morning.  To be exact.

That's when his wife delivered a child.

Their first.

A boy.

A beautiful boy.

Nobody is happier for him than me.

Do me a favor, keep this in your wallet, so when the chips are down you know that I’ll be there rooting for you.

23 years later.

To the day.

The letter is still there.

In my wallet.

It is tattered.

And torn.

But now it carries a new meaning.

To a father and son.