“I Am Going To Tell You”

Early last week, the phone rang, and it was my 8 year old niece on the other line.

“Aunt Christina?” her sweet, southern drawled, voice asked.

“Yes, Brittney” I replied, knowing exactly who it was.

“What is your address?” she asked.

I gave it to her.

“I wrote you a letter and I want to mail it to you and I asked mama if she knew what your address was and she told me she didn’t know and to call you and ask, so I did.”  She explained matter-of-factly.

“Well, I’m glad you called, and I am really looking forward to reading your letter.”

We talked a bit more and then finished our conversation.

I checked my mail box everyday until I received her letter.  Folded neatly in an envelope that was stuffed into another envelope that her mother, my sister, enscribed with the address was a thick piece of fancy stationary.

The outside read:

“Over”

I turned the paper over.  The other side read:

“From:  Brittney”

“To:  Christina”

I smiled, giggled a second to myself, and carefully unfolded the paper and began to read:

“Date 10-6-07

Dear Christina,

            I like school.  I am in 2nd grade.  Do you like it in Alaska this year?  Has it snowed yet in Alaska?  School has gotten hard.  My reading group teacher is mean! I am going to tell you how mean she is.  When you give her your paper and you have one mistake she will scream it out to every body!  I hope you write a letter back.

                                                                               Love,

                                                                               Brittney”

I couldn’t help but laugh because this was soooo something an eight year old drama queen in the making would write.  My sister says she gets it honest….honest from her aunt Christina.  I think I was more impressed with her good punctuation, grammar, and letter writing format.  My sister swears she did it without her knowledge and therefore without her help. (and I didn’t edit anything for the sake of this post)

“I didn’t even know she’d written you a letter until she asked me about your address.” my sister swears.

I carried the letter around in my jacket pocket for a few days before finally bringing it home and putting it in a safe place and posting about it.

I may not have children of my own, may not ever have children of my own, but I can’t explain how happy it makes me to see that my niece has inherited a fun piece of my personality.  Without sounding incredibly hokey, it fills my heart with joy to know that if nothing else, after I’m dead and gone, there will still be a part of me walking around, jumping to conclusions, making mountains out of mole hills, and doing it all while never failing to use good grammar and punctuation.  (Current run-on sentence, notwithstanding of course)
 

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