Note to Grant from Mike

This is Rebecca- Mike sent this email to Grant. I thought it was hilarious so with Grant and Mike's permission I'm reprinting it here. Mike is still happily riding his bike but locking it up and Grant is doing his schoolwork.

Buster. What you need is an e-mail account. Why don’t you ask Rebecca to help you set one up?
It’s about six in the evening and I’m feeling lonely. Mind you, that’s not the only reason I’m writing. Mostly, I just want to say hello and ask you how it’s going. I know high school can be a drag, and I’m wondering how you’re adjusting. Is the work load greater? Do you need to actually do homework? How are the babes?
Rebecca tells me you’re stressed out over the War of the Worlds book. I haven’t ever read it, but I’m thinking there’s a tape of it somewhere. It was a famous radio production, with Orson Wells. Though probably the book is different. Might be worth setting up a schedule and working your way through it. I know you’re not a big fan of reading, but it’s something you’ll have a hard time avoiding.
School here is nuts. I’ve got sixty kids in a class, and they’re a pretty rowdy group. They talk a lot. Horse around. It’s hot, there’s the noise from the street…in general, it kind of sucks on days like this. But there’ve been good ones, too. The kids are really nice; it’s just that there’s so damn many of them. I suppose you could sum up the whole country in similar terms. What else? I almost got my bike stolen like ten minutes ago. I ran into a small store and didn’t bother locking it because I figured I’d only be like one minute. Which is exactly what I was. When I came out, the bike was not where I parked it. I look up and down the street, and I figure that’s that. There must be a hundred bikes out there that all look just like mine. Then I see this guy, he’s my age, maybe a little younger, kind of scooting the rear tire of a bike out of the road. If he hadn’t done that, I’m sure I wouldn’t have noticed. But I saw the green plastic on the handle of my bell…and figured it must be mine. I walked up and confronted the guy. He sort of denied knowing what I was talking about, so I slugged him in the stomach, and when he leaned over, clutching his gut, I round-housed him and sent him into a pile of cow dung. Got on my bike and rode away. I felt just like John Wayne. Actually, that’s not entirely true. As soon as I insisted the bike was mine, he pretty much backed off and handed it over. No roundhouse. No punching to the gut. But there could have been, and that’s the important thing.
I need to make dinner, so I’m going to say goodbye. Will you please make an effort to get your school work done? I know it worries your mother (and me) to think you’ll grow up to be the kind of guy who hangs out in front of stores and steals old guy’s bicycles. Go to college and learn to steal on a big level. Become a CEO of a company. Or better yet, a lawyer. Then you can steal and have the law on your side. Just a thought.
I miss you.
Love, Dad