A Stranger Sent My Son Birthday Cards for 12 Years – On His 18th Birthday, the Sender Finally Signed His Real Name
First, happy birthday.
"Second, I owe you the truth, or at least enough of it for you to decide whether you want more."
"Please go to Merrick and Rowe on Fulton Street and ask for the envelope left in your name. They have been instructed to give it to you once you become an adult."
"You do not know me the way you think you might. But I knew someone who loved you very much."
"I hope, in some small way, these birthdays helped you feel remembered."
"Take care, son."
Thomas.
I read it twice. Then a third time.
"Take care, son."
Adrian noticed that too. "You see why I thought of my dad, right?"
I did. Of course I did. A man's full name. A letter waiting at a law office. A secret stretching across 18 birthdays. It sounded exactly like the kind of dramatic nonsense an absent father might pull when he wanted redemption without the inconvenience of actual parenting.
I felt something hot and bitter rise in me.
"He's got a lot of nerve," I said.
Adrian's eyes lifted. "So you think it is him?"
"No," I said too fast. Then, "I don't know."
He sat down hard in the kitchen chair. "What if it is?"
I looked at my son, legally an adult for a few hours and suddenly looking twelve again, and I knew I had two choices. I could downplay it and tell him to forget it. Or I could face whatever this was with him.
So I sat across from him and said, "Then we find out."
We went that afternoon.
The whole drive there, Adrian bounced between silence and nervous talking.
"What if he's dead?"
"He signed the letter."
"That doesn't mean recently."
"Please do not become more dramatic than the situation already is."
He glanced out the window. "What if he wants to meet me?"
I tightened my hands on the wheel. "Then you decide what to do."
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