Friday, November 5, 2010

Dear Ozzy,

You don't mind if I call you Ozzy do you? I mean we have been close for, what? Well, I guess somewhere around puberty we met, right? That's many, many moons ago. We have been close that's for sure and at first when you arrived, I was horrified. How could I explain your presence to my friends? I mean you hung out with my older brother and although I know it was hard for him, he was a boy and that's a little different.

I read that you like to hang out with kids that like sports. Ozzy, why me? I mean, I dabbled in gymnastics, but sports was really not my thing. So many jocks to choose from - even the popular girl would have been a better choice for you? She probably would have enjoyed your company.

"A gift from your grandmother," my mother would tell me. I wish I had known that you knew my gram. She might have been able to give me some advice about having you around. And although you weren't that bad during the day, you reminded me nightly of your presence and that hurt. But I grinned and tried to bear it, as they say. Just another growing pain.

But then as I got older and wanted to wear short skirts and look all sexy, you always stuck out. You always had to come with me and make me more self conscious than I already was (remember, I wouldn't see a flat iron for another 20 years).

Always trying to remember to cross my legs a particular way to make you less noticeable, it was crazy! One time I forgot and someone called you by name.  I guess you aren't really a stranger to many people. You get around, Ozzy!

The point of this letter, Ozzy, is that I hope knowing me is enough for this family. Two of my children seemed to have escaped you but I have two more and it seems that the jury's still out. But, I do understand genetics, so Ozzy, if you have to pick one, pick the boy.


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