Postmarked February 13, 1991

Dear Ian,*

Hi! I’m your Uncle John. Well, sort of your uncle. Actually you are just the first kid that any of my friends have made, and through no fault of your own you have inherited me.

For the rest of your life you will be plagued by visits from a big guy who smells like beer all the time and claims to have known your father in college. He will always be low on money, and he will demand that you purchase gluttonous amounts of alcohol he will drink as he burns cigarette holes in your housepets.

Don’t worry about confusing me with your Uncle Joe or Uncle Carl. I’m the one who smokes.  Enough about me.

I am 23 years old, married, and still in school. Don’t hold that against me. I’m not really stupid, I was just tricked into getting married. Your father and I are a lot alike at this point in our lives. The only difference is that your father has a job and a child. I, on the other hand, let my wife pay my bills and have Jeff Simmons for a best friend. So, as you can see, the only difference is that your dad isn’t lazy and I am.

I enjoy good books (if the Crayolas are handy), quiet evenings passed out on someone else’s floor, and fast food. I’m a good pool player and I really like tricking your father into betting on me and then losing. I have lots of advice to give you upon being a man, standing tall, and fighting dirty for what you believe in.  The only problem is that my wife won’t give me my allowance if I tell you any of it.

Say hello to your parents, and please try to take good care of them.

Your pal,

John

It is said that as long as someone is left to say our name, we have not completely vanished from this Earth.

John William Lowe. Gone eighteen years from the electromagnetic waves of throat and telephony I ache to employ to tell you that I love you one more time.

Gone, but not forgotten.

Brother, I miss you every goddamned day. Was there ever a pirate who worked as hard to leave a lifetime-sized wake for the adventures of a scant thirty years?

We will drink together again, my friend. We will drink until we chase feral cats, and then we’ll drink some more until we actually catch one. It’s pointless to ask you to stay out of trouble, but try and save some trouble for me.

* Not yet thirteen months old