Dear Redneck Son;
I'm writing this
letter slow because I know you can't read fast.
We don't live where we
did when you left home. Your dad read in
the newspaper that
most accidents happen within 20 miles from
your home, so we
moved.
I won't be able to
send you the address because the last
Arkansas family that
lived here took the house numbers when they
moved so that they
wouldn't have to change their address.
This place is really
nice. It even has a washing machine. I'm
not sure it works so
well though: last week I put a load in and
pulled the chain and
haven't seen them since.
The weather isn't bad
here. It only rained twice last week; the
first time for three
days and the second time for four days.
About that coat you
wanted me to send you, your Uncle Stanley
said it would be to
heavy to send in the mail with the buttons
on, so we cut them off
and put them in the pockets.
John locked his keys
in the car yesterday. We were really
worried because it
took him two hours to get me and your
father out.
Your sister had a baby
this morning; but I haven't found out
what it is yet so I
don't know if your an aunt or an uncle. The
baby looks just like
your brother....
Uncle Ted fell in a
whiskey vat last week. Some men tried to
pull him out, but he
fought them off playfully and drowned. We
had him cremated and
he burned for three days.
Three of your friends
went off a bridge in a pick-up truck.
Ralph was driving. He
rolled down the window and swam to safety.
Your other two friends
were in back. They drowned because they
couldn't get the
tailgate down.
There isn't much more
news at this time. Nothing much has
happened.
Love, Mom
