H, I think you’re the only kid I’ve ever known to become a better recorder player after the 4th grade.

They MAKE you play the record in the 4th grade.

Everyone endures it.

I endured it.

You survive the tests and the forced concerts, and then you never touch a recorder again.

It’s a rite of passage in the Americanized schooling I have known.

But you – you – took up the saxophone in 5th-grade band.

And it turns out that the saxophone is the instrument most similar to the recorder.

So you often leave your sax at school, sit in your room with the door shut, and incessantly toot on your old recorder.

I don’t even know how many songs you have taught yourself by ear at this point.

It’s pretty amazing to watch, if you want to know the truth.

I love you.

-Dad

H, it was raining when we woke up today.

The morning’s chaos was soon over and we were all out the door to school.

We dropped K off as usual, but we were running behind so I didn’t get to walk her to her classroom door.

It rained here and there as we drove to the other campus but finally stopped as we got there.

I helped you carry your “jazz flute” across the parking lot.

We said our goodbyes near the door and then I leaned over and kissed your forehead.

The instant I did, the sky exploded in rain.

I mean, it went from not raining at all to absolutely pouring in less than a second.

And it all happened the instant I kissed you. 🥰

We both screamed and ran our opposite ways.

My word.

I have kids to drop off. I got work I have to do today.

And I’m just playing around about town kissing girls in the rain.

I love you.

-Dad