thank you note

Approximately 26 years and 9 months ago, a kind couple in a peaceful Chicago suburb got frisky one night or maybe one afternoon or maybe real quick in the morning before work; their 2-year old son probably asleep in the next room. Nine months later, they beheld the gift of their second child, a boy with blond hair and blue eyes. As the years passed, his blond hair grew dark and his eyes collected images from his childhood, growing savvier each day. He sprouted 6 feet. He ran fast. And after a quarter of a century, I caught up to him.

When I tell the boyfriend how handsome he is he dismisses me with “It’s just genetics.” So, on his birthday I should thank his parents for creating a beautiful purveyor of their swirling DNA. Without their diligent work, I would be a lesser person with my flaws still earthed in my mental comforts, casting my smile at unsavory boys at arcades. It is because of him that I look forward to evenings at home in the comfort of his big couch, nestled into the crook of his arm. Without him, I would have no one to buy extra groceries for or introduce new foods to. I would be left to abhor the smell of my farts alone. My life would be less spicy with fewer bars and little to no exposure to music which I guess is commonly known as “classic rock.” Without him, that noise would still sound like ladies screeching to guitar dribble.

There are few boys in this world who could fill my heart with such wonder and awe at the commonplace pleasures we share. I love the one I was lucky enough to find. He is thoughtful and caring and sensitive and athletic and above all else tolerant of multiple references to his parents doing the nasty.