I need to talk you about something very serious. Something I hoped I'd never have to speak to you about. Something that has taken over public discourse and is the subject of several marches on Washington. I'm of course talking about the pretzel addiction epidemic. It might even be a pandemic. I'm not totally sure because no one has successfully explained to me the difference.
At any rate, I'm worried about you. I noticed in my recent visit that you’re growing up, getting a little bigger and a little wiser every day. Wise enough to know what you like. And what you like are pretzel rods. If I didn't know better I’d say you were made up of mostly pretzel rod. But I do know better. I know you are made up of mostly water cause you’re a human baby, but I’m pretty sure the rest is all pretzel rod.
And I’m not judging you. I would never do that. I just want to tell you a story. A story about a boy. A boy who loved pretzels--some say he still does--but those people need to mind their own business and let the boy be. Who are they to say the boy has had too many pretzels? He knows how many pretzels he can handle. He happens to have a high tolerance for pretzels. He can pretz with the best of em.
Alright, I can't keep up this ruse any longer. I can't lie to you, Connor. The little boy was me. I was a addicted to pretzels. I was a Pretz Head. A Pretzophite. And I don't want you to fall into the same habits and behavior as I did. Like hanging outside 7-Eleven waiting for it to open so you can get a fresh pretzel only to realize 7-Eleven never closes so you feel dumb for sitting out there in the cold for hours. Sure, you saw a bunch of people go in and get coffee and yet you still sat out there because you figured maybe they all just worked there. How many people could possibly work at one 7-Eleven?!? The pretzels had warped my mind.
I know what you're thinking. "What do you know about loving pretzels, 
old man? You don't know what it's like for me and my other baby friends. You don't know about pretzin'. Quit narcin' my buzz. Quit harshin' my gig. Did you really sit outside a 7-Eleven and wait for it to open?" And though I am troubled you've already started disregarding the g's in the suffixes of your words, I am not here to narc buzzes or harsh gigs. I just want you to know pretzel addiction can be a painful condition to grow up with.
You're lucky we live in such a progressive and civilized society that protects you from yourself. Back when I was growing up in the 1990's things were different. It was like the Wild West, but with pretzels. Pretzels were everywhere and ripe for the taking.
Whenever you were stuck in traffic on the way to the Vet to catch a Phils or Birds game or headed down the shore, these magical men would show up selling delicious pretzels. No one knew where they came from and no one cared. "Four delicious pretzels for a dollar", he'd say. (Or something like that. I never actually talked to them. I was entranced by the salty treat I was about to receive.) And just like that you had a pretzel of your very own.
And it didn't matter that you had the middle seat or that for some reason you couldn't stop hitting yourself--which made it increasingly difficult to answer your brother's question as to why you were hitting yourself--because you had a pretzel and everything was right with the world.
We even had pretzels at school. They sold them at recess for the same super low price as the mysterious highway pretzel salesmen. You could lift up one couch cushion and find enough change to keep you in pretzels for weeks. Maybe months.
But it was the 90's, it was all free love and pretzels all the time. President Clinton was in the White House running the country--some say the world--and it was just one big party with that guy. A party...that never ran out of pretzels.
By 1997 I was eating 3 or 4 soft pretzels a day at lunch; washing it down with two cups of cheese dipping sauce and a can of Mug root beer. True story. I would be picked on daily by the other children. They would call me names like "Pretzel Boy" and "Boy Who Loves Pretzels" and "That Kid With The Pretzels" (It was actually just one kid and he wasn't very creative).
Then one day everything changed.
Jim Garner's mustache and his Action News Team did a little investigative reporting. What they found was disturbing (The results of investigative reporting always seem to be disturbing.). Do you remember those awesome men I told you about earlier? The ones who would show up on the highway whenever you were in traffic to sell you pretzels. Well, it turns out those gentlemen weren't the most sanitary Good Samaritans. (Honestly though, where were they supposed to wash their hands? They appeared from thin air onto the highway.)
Soon enough the pretzel guys were gone. And now even WaWa and 7-Eleven cover their pretzels with plastic because of the scandal. I'm pretty sure there's a Surgeon General's Warning on the wrapper too. Frankly, without all the germs and boogers the pretzels just don't taste the same.
Sure, the world is safer for it. People can sleep at night knowing their pretzels are safe, but at what price? Now we have to go out of our way to one of the several thousand convenient stores on every block to get a pretzel. How "convenient" is it if you have to actually leave your car? It's not right, Connor. It's just not right.
You know what, I started this letter thinking I was going to tell you about variety and moderation, but now I'm just angry I can't walk outside right now and get a pretzel. I want a pretzel, Connor. Pretzels are awesome. I miss those pretzel guys. I miss them and I miss their germs. Their germs tasted delicious. How do we even know germs are harmful? Science? According to my friend Gob Bluth, the jury is still out on science.
You've been right about pretzels since the beginning. They're salty delicious treats that you literally can't have enough of. I say enjoy your pretzel freedom while it lasts. There's no telling when the government is going to knock on our door and take our pretzels. Sure, the Pretzel Amendment in The Constitution allows us to keep and bare pretzels, but who knows what the potato chip lobbyists have up their sleeve?
So your lesson today is pretzels are delicious, the government wants to take our pretzels, and...um...um... GO PHILLIES!!!
Your Favorite Uncle,
Kevin
Post Script: Although I’m very proud of you for learning how to share, sometimes you can be a little too persistent with the offering of the drooled on pretzel rod. Don’t get me wrong, I prefer soft pretzels to hard pretzels, I do. It’s just I’m not always hungry. And besides, you deserve the whole thing.
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