Happ Father's Day 1988

In 1988, I spent the summer working in London. London is where I was for Father's Day that year. When my dad passed away, my mom gave me all the letters and cards I had sent him over the years that he had kept in his dresser drawer.  This is the letter I sent him that year.


Dear Dad,

This seems odd, writing to you.  But I feel the need to, and so I do.

I miss you.  Does that strike you as odd? I mean, I find it normal to miss home, and my parents - but I miss YOU. I miss sitting at the dinner table complaining together about how mom is on the phone or that dinner isn't cooked quite right.  I miss asking who is on "Johnny" tonight and making you stop changing the channels so I can see someone you've never heard of before.

I miss knowing that you are worried.  I don't know exactly what you're concerned over for me - I know you care and are concerned, but I don't have the specific thing and I miss that.

I'm really enjoying myself. I'm poor. DIRT poor. I live in a "ghetto". But it's such an experience, I wouldn't trade it.  Tomorrow I'm taking a draw on my salary (they said I could, because I just missed payday...) So I shan't be poor for long.

I've started saying "half" as though it rhymed with "cough" - I like it.

There is talk that I may be able to help open the Paris store for Joan & David - I would love that! My French is almost eight years old but it would help me live in Paris! That would be too much to ask for. But it is still just talk.

I feel so distant from you and all my family (and clean water, and clean air!) but I feel that this is most likely part of growing up and taking on my own responsibilities. I mean, I sometimes felt (as I'm sure you have) that I've never be able to actually handle life on my own.  I'm pleasantly surprised - I CAN do it!!

Anyway - HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!! I would've phone you but i heard you were out of town...

I love you dearly - and miss you terribly.

Love, Jim


For the record, I didn't go to Paris for work. I didn't live in a "ghetto". The water in London left a strange scum on the top when you made tea and when I blew my nose the pollution from the city turned my boogers black. Even after taking that draw on my pay, I was broke. I still can't really handle my own life. And I still miss my dad.