My first grandchild. My first granddaughter. If you are reading this now, you are fifteen years old, and I am dead. Don't get bugged by that, I'm not. Feel free to get creeped out. Dead people creep me out, too.
Do you have a driver's license yet? A car? Or is the world such a fucked up place, that if you want a car, you just go throw a skeleton out from behind the wheel, and drive away?
Ooops, Grandpa said fuck. That's okay, so does your Mom. Just don't do it yourself for a few years, because it makes you sound like a slut.
And no, I'm not one of those creepy Grandpa ghosts that floats around in the bathroom and watches you take a shit, or a shower, or undress in your room. Though I'd like to think you've felt a comforting presence a time or two when you were going through some difficult times.
Are you still a virgin? Your dead Grandpa hopes so. Don't piss off the dead Grandpa.
I wish I could meet you now, hold you, sit and listen to you talk. Your Dad make it through the war? Hope so, a girl needs her Dad. How's your Mom doing? She ever become a book writer like I hoped? She's the second best woman I've ever known. How's the first best woman, my wife? Your best Grandma? How's she doing? How's Johnny and Nat doing? You ever see them?
I figure your Uncle Johnny is dead by now, too. Especially if times got hard.
Questions questions, and no way to get them answered. Well, I'm still alive as of the writing of this letter, so I'm gonna go out and do some still alive stuff. After I look at your baby pictures again. Wanna know what I look like? What I am like? Your Aunt Nattie is my female twin; and now go look at your Uncles from my side of the family, then...
Go look at your Mother.
Love you, Gremlin. Sorry I missed so much of your life. Have a good one.