Thursday, June 3, 2010

Merry Christmas

Dear Dinah,

This is one of those stories that I know you won't understand until you're much much older -- I hope -- and when you can understand it, I know that you will probably roll your eyes and sigh, "Oh, Dad…"

But because you will be that rare species -- the native Angeleno -- I know that you will appreciate the wonder of your city on Christmas Day. It's eerily quiet, but everything is still open because it's L.A. and someone somewhere might need something… like a pregnancy test. Which is why your father walked to the Rite Aid on Wilshire last Christmas. Your mother wasn't feeling well and your father thought he knew why…

I could tell you that the whiskey was on sale and that the solitary clerk looked lonely and bored, but the truth is I saw a chance for a joke and I took it: I put on my sunglasses, pulled up my hood and stepped up to the checkout counter with the pregnancy test in one hand and the booze in the other. "Merry Christmas," he said, "and hang in there, dude."

Your mother and I found out you were coming a few days later and as I watch you grow inside her, I find myself wondering who you're going to be. I wonder if you're going to have your mother's eyes and your father's twisted sense of humor.



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