Thank you for your letter. The one last week. The one you sent. Last week. I got it. It.
I’m reading it now. I’ve also got a scottle of botch in front in front of me. I don’t know which one I enjoy more, although the scotch does go down smoothlyer.
To the Parents of Simon,
Thank you for your (and I mean your, not Simon’s, letter of last week):
“Simon would like a stuffed bear, an electric train, and a savings bond worth $100.”
Isn’t it about time you let Simon make his own way in the world? Let him fight his own battles, win his own victories, die in his own defeats. He’s been too long tied down by the apron strings and should be cast off to make his own path. Like Oedipus, let him find his way and return triumphant one day to kill his father and … okay you don’t have to let it get that far. But you know what I mean.
Let him write his own letters, ask for his own toys for Christmas. He’s two, for Christ’s sake. Leave him alone.