The Story of The First Thanksgiving (I Think)

Dear Connor and Jack,

How you livin'? What's going down? What's the haps? Uh, I never know how to begin. I'm not very good at starting things. Not terrific at finishing things either. I'm more of a middle man. I'm the guy who knows the guy who can write a decent letter to his nephews. To get to the letter you gotta go through me.

ANYWAY, I'll probably go back and delete that last paragraph. Well, I should, but I won't because then this sentence won't make sense. It's a vicious circle of mediocrity, boys. A vicious cycle.

But enough about my own insecurities. It's Thanksgiving! We should be talking about all we are thankful for. But I feel like we did that last year (though I refuse to go back and check). And besides, Jack, it's your first Thanksgiving. You probably don't understand what this day is all about. For all you know it's just another Sunday dinner at Mom-Mom's. All the guys watch football and the ladies cook. But it's more than that, Jack. It's so much more than that.

It's been a while since I've read the story of the first Thanksgiving, but I think I remember enough of it to be able to tell it to you guys now and fill in the blanks with some uneducated guesses.

So without Freddie Ado, The Story of the First Thanksgiving...

Once upon a time about 400 years ago, there were these British people who called themselves Pilgrims. The Pilgrims were such dorks even other British people made fun of them. One day the Pilgrims decided they'd had enough swirlies and wedgies for one lifetime, so they got all their stuff and set sail for India to start their own community based on shoe buckles and capri pants. Why India? No one knows for sure, but many suspect that because there are so many IT guys there, the Pilgrims thought dorks would be especially welcomed.

In an ironic twist, their GPS malfunctioned on the way to India--something those dorks in India could have helped them with--and they ended up going the complete opposite direction. Where did they end up? You guessed it, the United States of the USA.

And this is why we call Native Americans "Indians"--because the Pilgrims were terrible with directions. And eventually everyone realized this wasn't India, but we continued to call Native Americans "Indians"* for another 400 years because you can't choose your nickname--nicknames are thrust upon you by hordes of dumb people.

(*I'm calling the Native Americans 'Indians' from this point forward because Native Americans is just too long and awkward sounding. Sorry Native American Indians.)

ANYWAY, the Pilgrims landed in Plymouth Rock, Massachusetts. I guess they didn't really land, since they were on a boat. What do boats do? Dock? They docked at Plymouth Rock and thought to themselves, "We did it! We made it to India! Look, I see some Indians! Wow, you know what, it doesn't smell all that bad here. This place gets a bad rep." There was no video evidence of the first encounter between the Pilgrims and Indians so we don't know exactly what was said, but here's an uneducated guess:

Billy Pilgrim: Hey, what's up Indians? We are the Pilgrims.

Stephen the Indian: Who you callin' Indians?

Billy Pilgrim: We have come from very far away to start a shoe buckle and capri pants based society. I notice your shoes don't have buckles. Also, I notice you don't have shoes.

Stephen the Indian: Welcome to America! Please, share with us this bountiful Earth!

Billy Pilgrim: Um, yeeeeah, sharing. Okay. We'll "share" the Earth with you. But later I have some paper I'm gonna need you to sign. It's no big deal, it just says who shares what and when and for how long sharing will last, blah, blah, blah...Like I said, it's no big deal, you won't even have to read it.

Stephen the Indian: Um, alright. You seem like trustworthy dudes. But first I want us to break bread. We must have a grand feast to celebrate a new friendship that will no doubt last many, many, moons. Have you ever tried maze?

Billy Pilgrim: Maze?

Stephen the Indian: You may know it as "corn".

Billy Pilgrim: Ah, yes, corn, no we have never had corn. I don't know why I acted like I recognized the word "corn", I've never even seen it.

Stephen the Indian: And I don't know why I assumed you would know corn, but not maze. I'm starting to think our narrator is getting confused.

Billy Pilgrim: He's not the sharpest tool in the shed, that's for sure. He spends a lot of his time making fart jokes.

Stephen the Indian: Please come sit and eat with us. We do not see how anything could go wrong once we have shared food.

Billy Pilgrim: Sounds great. We will bring disease--I mean bread. We will bring bread.

Stephen the Indian: And we will bring everything: a turkey, cranberry sauce, corn/maze, a corn maze, stuffing (stove top of course), a giant horn and we will fill it with inedible gourds for some reason, all the good stuff.

Billy Pilgrim: Ooh, I know what we can bring, alcohol. We have all this alcohol. You are gonna love it. It's not dangerous at all.

Stephen the Indian: That sounds great. I know this alcohol you speak of will go perfect with dinner. And then maybe it will be great to have right when we wake up and in no way will it lead to terrible things for me and my people.

Billy Pilgrim: This is gonna be awesome. We are gonna be BFF!

Stephen the Indian: Totes.

And so they ate together. They ate and sang and filled a giant horn with a bunch of inedible gordes for some reason and they gave thanks. They gave thanks for new friends. And they were best friends forever, just like they said they would be. Isn't that awesome?

Love you guys.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Your Favorite Uncle,

Kevin

There’s Nothing to Fear, But A Whole Bunch of Scary Stuff

Dear Connor and Jack,

Today I want to talk to you boys about FEAR. No, not the movie where Marky Mark punches himself in the chest, though we will talk about that one day--very disturbing. I'm talking about the feeling of fear.

Some people will tell you fear isn’t real. Don’t listen to them; fear is very real. We all have things we are afraid of. Some people will tell you there is nothing to fear, but fear itself, which may be true, but that still leaves us with fear, which is pretty scary. Also, unless you heard that from Franklin D. Roosevelt, that person is totally ripping him off. Remember, boys, proper citation is paramount.*

*Uncle Kevin’s letter 2011

Right now your fear level is extremely low. Jack, you are literally fearless, your brain has yet to develop the capacity for fear. But it will, so you should fear that.

Connor, you are almost fearless, though I heard about you and the ocean. You picked a great thing to be fearful of; the ocean is a very powerful and dangerous entity filled with lurking predators and wicked undertows. If you must fear something, and you must, the ocean is a solid choice. Well done, Connor, well done.

Fears will develop over time and they are often irrational and arbitrary. One of you guys may grow up to be terrified of spiders because you watched Spider-Man when you were two and Toby Maguire's face made you pee your pants. Fears are often that ridiculous. There's no telling what will manifest into a fear one day.

I'm not great with heights. If I remember it right, and it's completely possible that I'm not, the human mind can be a tricky, but this is how I remember it. I remember pretending to be scared of heights when I was very young, just to get attention. As it turned out, no one really cared. But I pretended to be scared of heights for so long, I forgot how not to be scared anymore. So now I'm not so awesome with heights. Weird, right?

One day when I was 10 or 11 years old, I went down what at the time was a pretty intimidating hill on Carriage Way (I think erosion or something has really affected it over the years because now it looks like a pretty laughable hill, barely a hill even, closer to a speed bump) with my bike. And back then I went as fast as my bike would take me. I was fearless.

I used to do tricks on my bike. Nothing that would make the X-Games, but I had no hands, side-saddle, feet on the handlebars, riding with my eyes closed, all of these movies were in my repertoire. But on this particular day, something happened.

I don't remember exactly what made me slam my breaks at top speed, I think I was trying to avoid a stray baby holding a puppy, there's no official record, but slam the brakes I did. And over the handlebars I went. Landed face first. This was the first time I broke my nose and the first time I chipped my front tooth. Chipped is actually not accurate, I broke my front tooth in half. Gravel was embedded in my knees, hand elbows, and face. I was a bloody mess. Thankfully, our neighbor Mr. Kosmaceski saw the whole debacle go down and picked me up off the street.

Ever since that day, I didn't ride so fast, my trick were a thing of the past. I was too scared. I let the fear win. Fear kept me from being the next Cru Jones.

You may be asking yourselves, “Why would uncle Kevin start talking to us about fear? We’re very young. This seems like a terrible idea. Also, those last couple of stories are pretty embarrassing. We're kinda losing respect for you.” Well, I’ve been thinking about fear a lot lately, you see. Let me give you guys a little insight into my current world. (Just a little. Anymore than that would not please your parents. )

Today, as a sort of company retreat, I’ll be participating in an exercise that involves a 15 minute training session followed by strapping on a parachute, hopping into a two person plane with a pilot, ascending into the sky where I will use what I learned in the previously mentioned training session (All 15 minutes!) to take control of this plane and attempt to mock-dogfight my co-workers.

That’s right, Jack, just like in Top Gun. Very astute observation.

Now, I know what your thinking, and yes, Las Vegas is a strange place, and yes, your uncle has a

strange job, and yes, it does sound awesome.

Not only are we pretending to shoot each other down, but we’ll also be doing loop-de-loops, barrel rolls, and stalls—a stall is when you fly the plane straight up in the air until the engine stalls and you free fall toward the Earth.

This is what I’m doing today. Probably right now as you’re reading this. And though I imagine I will be once I strap on that parachute, I’m not scared right now. But I will be…I will be.

I’m generally a good flyer, but being a good flyer and being good at flying are two entirely different

skill sets. In fact, being a good flyer isn’t a skill at all, it’s just the ability to keep your mind on something other than falling from the sky and keeping the food you’ve eaten inside of you. I’m pretty good at both of those aspects of flying, with the one exception being the time I flew with the flu and puked on a man’s seat as he was forced to catch me while I lost my equilibrium—the whole plane looked at me like I gave them bird flu, but more likely I just ruined their trip to Vegas.

Being good at flying, well, that I have to assume is more difficult than being a good flyer. Though my concentrations will be similar:

1. Not falling out of the sky and

2. Not puking all over myself

If I can make it through this dogfight without having done those two things, I will have won the war. Also, I would like to win the dogfight. If I win, don’t puke, and don’t have to use my parachute…call me Leo DiCaprio, cause I’ll be king of the world.

I will accomplish my goals today because it is important for me to remain a good role model for you guys. That would be difficult if I were covered in my own puke.

Whenever I find myself facing a particular fear I like to quote the scriptures:

“Fear causes hesitation and hesitation will cause your worst fears to come true.”-Letter from Saint Patrick of Swayze to Sir Johnny of Utah

Whether you’re robbing banks with your surfer buddies, mock-dogfighting your coworkers, or talking to a pretty girl at daycare, Swayze’s words hold true.

There are certain times in your life where fear is your friend. Fear reminds you you’re alive when life makes it hard to tell. Fear reminds you there are things in this world that must be vanquished and you are the only vanquisher (totally a word) around. Fear reminds us that noises in the dark aren’t always just noise, sometimes it’s a monster, and it’s probably under your bed or in your closet ready to eat your toes. Monsters love toes.

The point is, in your lives, fear will rear it’s good looking head around every corner and you will have plenty of chances to take it on. It’s never too late to start beating the poop out of your fears.

(Speaking of poop, I’m really hoping I don’t do it in the plane.)

Listen, if something happens up there--and statistically speaking this adventure is like the 9th most dangerous thing I've done this month, but fear laughs in the face of statistics--I want you guys to know…your Uncle Kevin loves you, and, well, he's an idiot.

That’s actually what I want my epitaph to be: “Here lies a man who died the way he lived: Like an idiot.”

Don't worry, I'll be fine.

Fear not, for I have watched Top Gun a crapload of times.

Oh, and tell your Mom happy birthday for me!

Your Favorite Uncle,

Kevin

Sports, Sports, Sports, Sports!

Dear Connor and Jack,

This is a very exciting time for us, boys. A very, very exciting time. I equate this time to that part in Jurassic Park when the old guy pops the champagne and tells Dr. Adler and Dr. Whatever that he'll fund their dig for another 3 years. I know that might be the most contrived movie reference of all-time and that scene led to a bunch of people being eaten by dinosaurs, but the point is I love that movie and it's was on TV a lot recently. Anyway, it's a very exciting time for us.

I wanted to write to you today to make my 2011 NFL season predictions, and I'll get to that, but I can't get there until I talk a little bit about our 1st place Phillies and our beloved Eagles turning this free-agency into Mikey's wishing well speech. In this case, The Eagles are the Goonies, Andie is Nnamdi Asomugha, and the Cowboys are Troy.(What do you mean that's more confusing than the Jurassic Park reference? Watch Goonies again, it totally makes sense.)

I can feel the hate flowing from other sports fans. I grow stronger, feeding from that hate like a Sithe Lord (Darth Uncle Kevin). Now all the Phillies and Eagles have to do is win the World Series and Super Bowl a few months apart. Easy enough.

When this duel-Championship happens a gelatin-like dome of negative emotions will cover all other sports towns ala Ghost Busters II.(What do you mean this is getting ridiculous? It's a completely valid reference and it accurately describes what would happen if two Philly teams won championships. You know what, Connor, I don't care that Dora the Explorer is never this contrived. I don't see Jack complaining. He's so intrigued he's literally drooling with anticipation.)

Anyway, it's a a very exciting time, boys, a very exciting time.

Now, you know your Uncle Kevin is the prognosticator or prognosticators--I make Punxsutawney Phil look like some poor, confused, little animal that is paraded out like a mascot for a tiny Pennsylvanian town, which may or may not have had a genius movie made about it. (See, I'm not even bringing the movie up this time.) So basically, these aren't so much predictions as they are facts that just haven't happened yet.

Let's take a look at some of my predictions from last year, in case you forgot (Connor) or you hadn't come into existence yet (Jack):

'The Packers will win the Super Bowl.' - Not bad, think I nailed it, but maybe I just got lucky.

'Mike Vick will take over the starting job in Philly and will come one play short of beating the soon-to-be champion Packers.' - Now even I'm a little impressed with that prediction. You have to admit that was nice.

'Randy Moss will play for three teams. Seattle will have a losing record, but somehow upset the Saints in the first round with a stunning 41-36 victory despite Drew Brees throwing for 397 yards.' - Wow. I mean, wow. Bold? Yeah, I'd say that was a pretty bold prediction. I just went with my gut.

As you can see, I am amazing at predictions. It's just a shame I edited those predictions out of my letter last year due to time constrictions. You guys will just have to trust that I would never lie to you. Especially not about something as serious as NFL predictions or Santa Clause.

Without Freddy Ado, here are my 2011 NFL predictions...

Chris Berman Will Have a Stroke On-Air

Shocking, I know. The worst part is it will leave him to only be able to say nonsensical phrases like "rumblin bumblin" and "Circle the waaagons" and "Come on, Maaaan!". It will be hard to watch.

Jerry Rice Will Remind Us Every Sunday How Good He Was

There's never been a person widely considered--scratch that, unanimously consider the best ever at his or her particular job who feels as under appreciated as Jerry Rice. I'm not sure what this guy wants people to say or do in addition to consistently calling him the greatest wide receiver ever. People respect him so much they never bring up his balding cornrows look he sported late in his career. It's the same respect Joe Montana and Wayne Gretzkey get when no one mentions how they are the spokesmen for sneakers designed for old women pretending to exercise. Yet, it's still not enough for Jerry Rice. Hopefully he'll satiate that need when the other five guys on the pre-game show pretend to laugh at all his jokes and preface their analysis with, "He's no Jerry Rice, but..." We can only hope things start to turn around for Jerry Rice.

Brett Favre Will STILL Be Just Like A Kid Out There

Brett won't actually step on the field, but somehow, some way, he will manage to act just like a kid out there. And Jon Gruden will notice this demeanor and be sure to remind us that Brett might look and act like a creepy old man in real life, but when he's out on that feild, he's just a little, ity, bity, kid out there. He's so cute he makes me want to take a picture with my cell phone.

No Cincinnati Bengal Will Be Arrested

Just kidding. Seven Bengals will be arrested and they will all be named Pacman Jones. (Note: I wrote this before Cedric Benson went to jail. Can't even joke about this team anymore without them one upping you.)

Andy Reid Will Gain Weight

He will gain the weight of one Super Bowl ring. And a whole bunch of other weight probably. He's really unhealthy, but he makes up for it with his dynamic personality.

When You Talk About Guys Who Talk About Guys You're Talking About Saying A Bunch of Unnecessary Words Before Actually Saying Nothing About the Guy's You're Talking About.

What?

A Raiders Fan Will Shoot a 49ers Fan

What do you mean that has already happened in the preseason? I was just joking. That really happened? And it was after a preseason game? Not even a playoff game that has relative consequence inasmuch as a football game can have consequence? Well, that's just messed up. People are messed up. Stay away from people.

Eli Manning Will Continue to Be Funny Looking

And it will be funny.

Your Uncle Kevin Will Lose Money

Between fantasy football, suicide pools, handicapping contests, being surrounded by sportsbooks, and my living with a bookie, the odds I lose money during this football season are -1000. I like those odds. Think I'm gonna bet big on me losing.

Everyone Will Freak Out When the Eagles Go 0-3

I think any realistic Eagles fan (Do they exist?) is worried about the start of the season. @St.Loius, @Atlanta, Home vs. Giants...that's a rough start. I wouldn't be surprised if the Eagles start 1-2. 0-3 would surprise me, but isn't out of the question. Especially with the short offseason, teams with a lot of new acquisitions are at a disadvantage early in the season. And no one had more significant acquisitions than the Eagles. And I don't think anyone, including Andy Reid, knows how this offensive line will look on Sunday. Lots of question marks, boys, lots of question marks. Having said that, I think the Eagles will go 16-0. (They don't exist).

We Will Once Again Bore Everyone with Tales of Fantasy Football

This has become the most reliable tradition in sports: We love football. We love to play fantasy football. We want to people to know of our love and all the trials and tribulations that come with that love. And so we tell them. And they hate us for it.

It's a tragically beautiful story.

Every Kiss Will Begin with Kay and Also Beer

If we learn anything from the barrage of advertisements during an NFL game (and we certainly do not) it's that we should drink light beer and buy our wife some freaking diamonds!

Little do they know that I'm already drinking light beer and I don't even have a wife. What a bunch uh idiots! (I bought the diamonds just in case I get married by accident)

That's it. Those are my predictions/future facts. I think I nailed it. I know I nailed it. What's that? You want a Super Bowl pick? Alright, alright.

Eagles 65 Patriots 4

Halftime Show: Atrocious

Your Favorite Uncle,

Kevin

Remembering Your Aunt Emily

Dear Connor and Jack,

Today we celebrate the life of your Aunt Emily. I know you loved her like we all did. I want you guys to have this letter from all of us to your Aunt Emily. I hope it reminds you of her and on difficult days I hope your mother will read it to you.

Dear Emily,

Where do we begin? I guess we have to begin with the image every one has when they think of you…your smile.

Your smile will undoubtedly be described many times today. Beautiful, warm, bright…all these words describe your smile, but more than anything your smile was infectious. Your smile made it impossible not to smile. Impossible.

You were genuine. You had a genuine interest in the people and the world around you. Anytime we needed someone to talk to we knew you’d be there to listen, to really listen. You would do the Emily nod to let us know you were listening, you would smile, you would engage us you would do the Emily hand-over-heart laugh whenever we'd say something you thought was funny. You were already a great psychologist in your own right—especially with Lauren.

Your enthusiastic approach to life is a template of how each of us should live. You knew what you wanted, you worked hard to get it, and you never stopped pushing yourself. You were so personally driven, yet you never stopped caring about others, especially our family.

We'll never forget one of the first times you held Connor. How you squeezed him as he slid down the front of you. Then you stood up with him in your arms thinking you had adjusted properly. It was hard to tell who was more uncomfortable, you or Connor. You eventually figured it out and by the time Jack was lucky enough to be held in your arms, you were a pro.

One of our fondest memories as a family was the trip to New York to celebrate Mom’s 50th birthday and you decided to take a family picture of us. Before you took the picture you screamed “Everyone say Shawn and I are moving to Philly!” Finding out that you both were going to live so close to us was some of the best news we had ever received.

Being able to be in the presence of you and Shawn may have been the greatest of the many gifts you gave us. For those of us still searching for love, you gave us hope. You gave us hope that there is someone out there that’s perfect for us. There’s someone out there as weird, or as awkward, or as unapologetically nerdy as two people with a science themed wedding. You had already won us over before that wonderful day. You became our daughter and our sister long before august 16th 2009.

You filled a space in this family we didn't know was there, and you left us all with a whole in our hearts. We will miss you ever day and we will never forget you. But more than that we will REMEMBER:

We will remember how genuine you were. And we will remember to be true to ourselves.

We will remember how kind you always were. And we will remember to always be kind.

We will remember how ambitious you were. How hard you worked. And we will work harder.

We will remember your smile, and be forced to smile ourselves.

We will remember how much you loved Shawn, how your love inspired us and gave us hope. And we will remember that love exists, that love is real.

We will remember you, Emily, for the person you were and the person you tried to be. We will always remember you because we will carry you with us always.

We love you.

-The O’Connor Family

Brothers Don't Shake Hands...

Dear Connor and Jack,

This is gonna* get complicated. I'm now outnumbered by my nephews. How do we address this? Well, first of all I have to give Jack a proper greeting:

(gonna: a lazy way of saying "going to", but your Uncle Kevin hasn't perfected his non-regional diction so that's how he talks. He also talks in the 3rd person.)

Dear Jack,

Welcome to Earth! I know you've been here a whole month already and you probably have a better grasp on the world than I do, but I'm gonna pretend I have something worth teaching anyway. As I did with your brother Connor I want to congratulate you on being a boy--it's pretty sweet. As a boy it doesn't get much more complicated than eating, sleeping, and pooping--which I know you've got down pat. To quote the coach from "Teen Wolf" which I'm opt to do, "Everything else is cream cheese."

We already have a lot in common, you and I. We were both born in April. We are both little brothers. We both enjoy a good nap. We both wake up in our own drool not really knowing how we got here.

Given all these facts, I suspect we'll be best friends in no time--just as soon as we are formally introduced.

(Now I'd like to address the both of you separately about your new roles as Big Brother and Little Brother. It's very important that you only read the parts that are addressed to you. Doing otherwise will cause "Dora the Explorer" to be canceled. Do not test the rules!)

Connor,

Congratulations! Being a big brother is a very important responsibility. As your Aunt Lauren will tell you, I'm prolly the best big brother in the history of the world. You will undoubtedly learn as you go, but if I can give you a heads up on some things you'll have a head start on being the #2 best big brother in the history of the world.

First of all, stop being so nice. I know he's a baby, but you gotta toughen him up. Start with some light name calling. Try "jerk face" or "poop monster" or "doo doo face". Stuff like that. Adding "face" to pretty much any word works great.

Jack,

Being the little brother means you're gonna take a lot of crap from Connor. He'll say he's just trying to toughen you up, but we all know that's a bunch of bull. He's just being a jerk. Your initial feeling will be to "tell on him", but fight that urge. It will only anger him further and telling on him will only make you feel better for a second. You'll get hit with the "tattle tale" moniker and in the end it will still feel like he's won. What you want to do is wait. Wait until he least suspects it. And he suspects things the least when he's sleeping. Once he's asleep put toothpaste in his hair. He'll wake up and think he had a teeth brushing accident the night before and didn't realize it. He won't suspect a thing. I'm still pretty sure your Uncle Ryan doesn't know it was me, but that's probably because some of the time it actually was him.

Connor,

Make sure you give Jack some kind of complex that will bother him his whole life. Nothing too severe, just something about his physical appearance that will concern him every time he looks in the mirror. It doesn't have to be true. Tell him he has "Dumbo Ears" whether he does or not. Then try to work in a giant ears joke a few times a day. Eventually he'll grow his hair long just to hide his ears, which are probably normal size, but to him they will be the ears of a 90-year-old man. Whatever you do, don't make fun of him for having a giant head and a little body, like that of a lollipop. Don't combine that with his giant feet and call him Bobby from the 90's cartoon "Bobby's World" either. It is really mean and it's been done to death. He will just end up wearing hats all the time to the point that his nickname in college will be about how he always wears a hat a certain way and most of his friends won't even know his first name. A terrible, terrible fate.

Jack,

Try your best to mimic everything Connor does. Not because you look up to him in any way, but because that's a super annoying thing to do. It's gonna get on his nerves really quickly. One of the best ways to eat away at his patience is to order the same lunch as him every day. If Connor wants peanut butter and jelly, so do you. If he decides he changes his mind and asks for peanut butter and fluff, you think about it for a second, then you too change your order to a fluff-a-nutter. Your Aunt Lauren used to do this to me all the time and it drove me insane. It's the little things that matter, Jack. You have to eat away at his patience little by little. What's a little brother for if not to be the human equivalent of Chinese water torture? (Another good one is to write/carve his name into a piece of furniture. It took 20 years for people to find out it wasn't "Tim" who carved his name into the back seat of the mini van.)

Connor,

Don't let Jack copy you.

Jack,

Whenever possible sneak into Connor's room and touch all his things. You don't have to necessarily play with his toys, but at least move them around so they look like they've been played with. It's important to keep up appearances. Maybe you have toys of your own toys you like playing with more. Doesn't matter. He needs to be in constant fear that whenever he's not around, you are in his room playing with his toys and touching all his stuff. Whatever you do, never--and I mean never--ask permission to borrow his stuff. It defeats the whole purpose and really takes the joy out of it all.

Connor,

Don't let Jack into your room for any reason. I know he's seems like an innocent baby, but he will destroy your things just to watch them break. All your favorite toys will cease to be special once your little brother gets any joy out of them. I know it seems like the right thing to do is to share your toys with your little brother, but the law clearly states that once your little brother plays with something, that thing becomes uncool. Do you want your favorite toys to all of sudden be uncool? I didn't think so, Connor, I didn't think so.

Jack and Connor,

You guys are brothers which means you're stuck with each other for a while. No one was as hard on me as my brothers were. And though I still don't believe they were trying to toughen me up, but really just enjoyed watching me suffer, I did grow a thick skin as a byproduct. (I'm also pretty self-conscious about my thick skin. It's a catch-22.)

Children, in general, are a mean group of people. Knowing the kids at school could never tease me worse than I got it at home gave me enough confidence to be myself around strangers. (Something most strangers wish was less true.)

It takes years to know someone well enough to know what they love, what they hate, and what doesn't matter to them at all. And you need all that information if you really want to drive someone insane. As brothers, this information will be readily available. Use it to your advantage whenever possible.

I'm not worried about either of you. Tormenting your siblings is in your blood. It's a family tradition. You'll both be naturals.

Good luck to you both. I can't wait to find out who wins.

Your Favorite Uncle,

Kevin

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qmTRFvZ_Cp4

You Gotta Love Sports!

Dear Connor,

First of all, I'm sorry I missed your birthday. I wish I could be there for all the anniversaries of your birth, but more likely I will be absent more often than not. Your uncle Kevin is a rambling man. Quite the rambler, indeed. Yup, I sure do ramble. Rambling is one of my biggest problems. I just can't seem to shut it down, the rambling that is.

I think you get the joke, right? You see, rambling has two distinct meanings and I was playing with that double-meaning while at the same time displaying my ability to do one of them. And in case you still haven't caught on, I'm still doing it. But now it's more like stalling than rambling because I have no idea what it is I'm trying to say. (Jokes are always best when you have to explain them heavily after you make them. Try not to remember that.)

Oh, that's right, we are on the eve of the most anticipated Phillies season in recent memory. Fat Joe and the Terror Squad could not have higher expectations. Meanwhile, the heart and soul, and handsomeness of our offense is in serious question with Chase "Chutley" Utley starting the season on the DL. On top of that, our once perfect closer Brad "Beauty Mark" Lidge is also on the DL. This isn't as worrisome as Chutley's injury, but when Lidge is on, he's great, and we need him to get as much work in this season as possible.

These early issues are compounded by the looming NFL lockout, which will put even more pressure on our beloved Phillies to keep us distracted this fall from a bunch of millionaires and billionaires taking away America's most popular sport. I would like to tell you more about the lockout and explain to you why it's such a travesty of greed and social indifference, but I can't even stomach the research it would take to understand why it's happening. So let's pretend it isn't and won't happen. I don't know why, but remaining ignorant helps me pretend the world is a better place than it is. I feel like there should be a saying for this...

One thing I do know, and this a FACT, Chase Utley would never let this happen to baseball. A fact backed by this statistic: Since Chase Utley has been in the majors there have been zero lockouts. Boom! Facts!

In honor of this soon to be historic season, how about some predictions from the prognosticator of prognosticators, your uncle Kevin? I'll take that as a, "Sure, why not". And away we go...

J-Roll Will Return to All-Star Form.

He's got to, right? If not, we could be in trouble. It's all about J-Roll as far as I'm concerned. He's our best trash talker and longest tenured player on the team. If he's playing well, the confidence will trickle down to the rest of the lineup. It's simple baseball Reaganomics.

We Will Miss Jayson Werth, But The Nationals Will Still Suck.

I mean, Werth was great. You need a guy who can put the team behind the powers of his facial hair, which we learned with Brian Wilson and the champs last year. The Giants told everyone to fear the beard and that's exactly what they did. I hope we play them again in the playoffs. My dream last year was that we would get to play the Yankees in the World Series to exact our revenge. Now, our beef is with the Giants. The thing I hate most about the Giants is that I like the Giants. If it wasn't the Phils last year, I'm glad it was them. They have a similar clubhouse feel to the Phillies. Brian Wilson has the crazy person confidence of Freddie Mitchell with the talent of someone who has talent. I like Tim Lincecum because he stopped doing that thing he did in high school where he pinches his nose all the time. And I miss Pat the Bat. Let's move on.

Fat Joe Blanton Will Have the Greatest Year of His Career

No one in the majors has less pressure on them than Joe Blanton. If he's terrible the fans will just go, "Well, I mean, it's Joe Blanton, what do you expect? We can't win em all." He'll be facing lineups that are so worried about the gauntlet of greatness they have to face when he's not on the mound that he'll slide right in there and overachieve. He probably won't have to do an interview all year. I just worry that he'll do so good Charlie might consider pitching him in the playoffs. (I'm not really worried about that)

Placido Polanco Will Get An Award From "The People With Giant Heads Association"

He's due.

Yet Another Phillies Fan Will Embarrass The City and The Human Race

It's getting to be a tradition of disgrace. If there is one thing no one in this world likes it's when some drunk guy intentionally pukes on a little girl. I would tell you to try and remember that, but I seriously doubt it will ever happen anywhere by anyone ever again. Being that Philadelphia is a city with such rich history I think we should take a page from the founding father's book and tie this town drunk to the stocks outside the Betsy Ross house so people can come by to whip him with switches. I would say we should let people come by and puke on him, but that would be too disgusting for anyone to enjoy. I would enjoy seeing this moron get whipped with tree branches. I think we all would. (I'm not sure if Philadelphia ever had stocks, but I'm not going to look it up, so let's assume they did.)

On the other hand, everyone enjoys watching some jerk get tased. Phillies fans have brought that joy to the world several times in the past couple years. I wouldn't recommend being that guy. Try to be the guy who convinces his friend to run onto the field, not the guy who gets convinced. Always remember to pressure your peers--especially if it is to the enjoyment of thousands of strangers, it's caught on tape, and they get temporarily paralyzed through an electric shock. Fun for everyone! (except of course the tased guy)

New York Baseball Will Be Embarrassed Regularly

Oh happy day! The Mets are widely predicted to be dead last this year, but I think they will somehow do worse. Bernie Madoff was recently interviewed from prison and said the thing he's most ashamed of is his involvement with the Mets. As for the evil empire of baseball, the Yankees did all they could to sway Cliff Lee to the Darkside, but in the end he decided it was better to be happy in Philly than hang out with the likes of A-Rod and C.C. Sabathia. If any coach in the league could be compared to Yoda, it would be Charlie Manuel. He's really old, wise, and he talks funny. Seriously though, New York is a bunch of stinkfaces and jerkwads. Boom! Facts!

My Buddy Roscoe Is Psyched!

(I had to give him one of my Twizzler Bites to get him to pose for this picture.)

Carlos "Chooch" Ruis Will Be Your Favorite Player

I predict this based on two things: 1) Chooch is probably the only name you can say right now. And 2) You and Chooch speak very similar versions of the English language. I can already hear you yelling, "Chooooooooch!" and laughing your ass off.

And Finally...

The Philadelphia Phillies Will Win The 2011 World Series!

This is probably my easiest prediction because I know something the general public doesn't know. Since your uncle Kevin lives in the gambling capital of the world (Las Vegas Nevada), he has certain inside information from very reliable sources. I am not at the liberty to divulge the source (Celine Dion) of my super secret info, nor can I get into the specifics (She runs Major League Baseball and possibly the world), but you must trust me, the Phillies will be the 2011 Champions. Fact! Boom!

I hope you've enjoyed my baseball preview as much as I enjoy being omniscient. We'll talk again in a few weeks when you become a big brother. Something I know your aunt Lauren has told you I'm super awesome at. Fact! Boom!

Your Favorite Uncle,

Kevin

P. S. - You Gotta Love Sports!

Roses are Red, Uncle Kevin is Blue, That is All.

Dear Connor,

Hey guy, it's been a minute. Let's do a quick catch up of what's gone down since my last letter: Happy New Year! Snow. How bout that Super Bowl? Snow. So Egypt, huh? Crazy. More snow.

Wow, awesome catch up. Now on to the real subject, Valentine's Day. V-Day. The Most Romantic Day of the Year. Cupid's Christmas. (I made that last one up, but it's pretty good, right?)

Valentine's Day has a rich history of heart shaped chocolate boxes, red roses, kisses beginning with Kay, men going to Jared, women telling friends that their men went to Jared, and single people everywhere pretending it's just another day.

Which brings me to my next point, Valentine's Day is just another day. I'm not saying it's a complete farce conspired by the greeting card, flower, heart shaped box, and chocolate companies to exploit the notion of love and romance just to make a dollar--I'm not saying that because I'm not Ethan Hawke's character from "Reality Bites".

What I am saying is I don't really understand the idea of scheduled romance. Seems counter-intuitive. Romance by its very definition seems to imply some level of spontaneity and impulse, doesn't it? If it's a day scheduled once a year that is similarly celebrated by millions of people doesn't it lose its zeal, its originality, its genevevufrancesomesoshe? (I don't know what that word is or what it means, but you get it.)

And I'm not saying that because of some horrible scarring memory involving Valentine's Day that lead me to be the sad lonely person you know today. That would be ridiculous and predictable. It would be predictably ridiculous and ridiculously predictable.

So this is what happened...

I was in the 3rd grade--I think. And for the first time I was excited for Valentine's Day because for the first time I really wanted a Valentine's Day card. Not just any card, but a card from a girl in my class. A girl named Jamie. I didn't know why, but I loved her. Jamie had blond hair and blue eyes, so we obviously had a lot in common. (I think one of Gladwell's books saying this matters. Maybe Blink.) She was also the smallest girl in class. Something about this was disarming and endearing. She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. Sure I was only 10-years-old, but who knows when you'll see the most beautiful girl you'll ever see? You may have already seen her and you've only been around for 23 months.

So when I got her card I knew she liked me. Sure, she gave everyone in class a card, but mine said, "I choo, choo, choose you" and had a picture of a train on it. Actually, now that I think about it, that may have been the card Ralph Wiggum got from Lisa Simpson. I may not remember what the card said, but I do remember it had my name on it, which meant she knew my name. Out of all the dozen of other guys in the class, she knew my name. She had to like me, right? Right, Connor?!?

Well, I never found out. When I got home, I took that card and I stuck it under my pillow--cause that's where things go that you love or expect a fairy to replace with a dollar. Though I would have gave the Tooth Fairy a serious pounding if she tried to take this card and leave me a measly dollar. This card was priceless. Thankfully the Tooth Fairy never got to it, unfortunately someone way, way, worse did...your Evil Uncle Ryan.

That's right! A long, long, time ago in the same room your weekday crib is now, your Awesome Uncle Kevin and your Evil Uncle Ryan forcefully coexisted. And when the Scar to my Mufasa (your Evil Uncle Ryan) found Jamie's Valentine under my pillow he did what all evil brothers do...he tormented me. I, of course, denied all involvement with this mysterious card under my pillow. No idea how it got there. Must have been there when we moved in. Prolly was the last kid who lived in this room. What a dork, huh? I'm being framed I tell ya, FRAMED!!! I felt just like my hero at the time, Mr. Roger Rabbit.

After that humiliation I never spoke to Jamie in fear that it would be obvious to everyone in class and they too would mock me the way your Evil Uncle Ryan did. Sure, I avoided ridicule (at least for that), but I may have also avoided the love of my life.

Since then I've spent my life developing a cold heartless shell around me that protects me from the haunting taunting (I feel as though I should rephrase that to 'unsettling insults' or 'terrible teasing', but I thought of 'haunting taunting' first so we'll go with it) of your Evil Uncle Ryan.

I may not have a solid grasp on space or time, but a short time after this I moved to Las Vegas and have yet to open my heart the way I did with Jamie the tiny girl who had the same hair and eye color as me. I don't know what happened to Jamie. Somewhere along the line we lost touch. She stopped being in the same class or school or state as me and as such I could no longer stare at her from across the room. The cold heartless shell I developed has provided me the emotional armor I've needed to survive since I lost her.

I feel like there was a point to this story and that point had some kind of positive message to convey...hmmm...I guess the moral of this story is don't be like me. Don't let yourself be bullied by the naysayers or cynics. Sure, Valentine's Day may just be another reason for us all to buy things we don't need for reasons we can't really explain, but no one celebrates this day with people they don't love or at least like enough to put an effort in, so there's gotta be some good that comes from that. Certainly nothing bad comes of it. At the very least, more people say I love you today than any other day of the year. That's got to have a positive affect on the world.

Finally, I know you've got a little brother coming soon. And say he comes home from school one day and puts a Valentine's Day card under his pillow. Don't be a jerk to him about it. Encourage him to talk to her cause that could be his wife one day. You could be responsible for your little brother's lifetime of happiness or his lifetime of regret and current state of crippling loneliness. She Could Have Been My Wife, Ryan!!!

Be a Mufasa, Connor, not a Scar. Not like your Evil Uncle Ryan.

Don't be like Ryan.

Your Favorite Uncle,

Kevin