An open letter to my nephew Danny

(My sister asked me to write a letter to my nephew Danny for his time capsule. Then this happened.)

Danny,

If you are reading this, I am dead.

Just kidding.

I’ve always wanted to say that.

But seriously, in this, the year of our lord 2034, there is a distinct possibility that I am in fact dead.

If that is in fact the case, allow me to extend my deepest condolences and impart some wisdom I wish my Uncles had imparted on me before crossing over.

(Side note: If Führer Trump has changed our National Language to the more “Robust” German, my apologies for writing this in English.)

  1. Chiles Wilson will pay for anything he gets to name.
  1. Chiles Wilson’s idea of keeping a secret is telling one person at a time.
  1. Your brain will not fully develop until you are Thirty. I can say that, I am Thirty. Parts of this you will not understand. Be sure to re-read this in twelve years to thoroughly engrain my message. Gather, surmise and ye shall learn.
  1. Never drink Absinthe.
  1. Never drink Absinthe in Budapest, and claim to everyone in Buda and Pest that you are the starting tailback for the Alabama Crimson Tide.
  1. Nothing good happens at Al the Wops past 10 P.M.
  1. Horse’s are stupid animals. To paraphrase your namesake, Uncle Daniel, “Anything that weighs 1500lbs, and lets you ride it, is stupid.”
  2. Never brush your teeth with Preparation H.
  1. If you ever get arrested by Isleton PD. Shut your mouth. If you’re the gabby sort, just say nonono to every question they ask. Your father is an officer of the peace. He will reaffirm this message.
  1. Take baths, not showers. Ice baths. Epsom salt baths. Although not time expedient, the meditative benefits are enormous. Grandpa Chiles is a bath taker. So was Winston Churchill. Both Hitler and Trump took showers. Not together. At least not that I am aware of….

Remember, I too, had a weird Uncle Paul.

He used to drunk dial me and tell me how much he loved me. Then, he’d drunk dial your mom and tell her how much he loved me.

Weird. I know.

I would do this to you, but I am 5 years sober and you don’t have a phone or a sister.

For now this letter will have to suffice.

Love,

Your weird Uncle Paul.