Dear Bernie #9 (April 15th 2009)

Dear Bernie,
I called G'mama today. It was good to talk to her. I feel bad. I don't call her as much as I should. She told me that my cousins all missed me at Easter. I don't think this is true. I think she just said that to make me feel better. I think my cousins were glad I wasn't there. I'm always saying stupid things at the dinner table that make the rest of the family feel awkward. Then some of my aunts feel sorry for me and give me extra mashed potatoes. Speaking of mashed potatoes, I just took a bite of a bagel with cream cheese. It didn't taste good. I will finish it only because I know you'd be disappointed if I threw it out. I don't know if you know this or not, but mashed potatoes aren't related to cream cheese bagels. I tricked you. I just said it to say it. You know how it is. Sometimes you find a toy whistle in the cereal box and sometimes you find stale frosted flakes. Anyway, I think G'mama is doing well. She said she is going to New York because someone she knows is turning seventy. She also said that someone else in New York fell on their head and had to retire. I don't know all the details because I started to zone out at that point. When I tuned back in G'mama was telling me about the time she fell off a ladder in the garage and broke her wrist which has something to do with baseball cards. I don't know if you remember or not, but Grandpa Joe did some accounting work for a guy back in the early nineties and the guy didn't have any money so he gave my Grandpa Joe all his baseball cards.
Grandpa Joe is dead now and all the baseball cards are above G'mama's garage. I think she is afraid to look at them because she thinks they will make her fall off the ladder again. She wants me and my cousin to come over and split them up. There is something like twenty-four boxes of baseball cards. Unfortunately, the whole lot of them is probably worth three dollars because card companies massed produced cards in the early nineties and the market was flooded. Which isn't necessarily a good thing for G'mama because I'm in no hurry to go pick up a dozen cases of worthless baseball cards. It's strange really. I remember a time when the only thing that mattered in my life was baseball cards and playing football at recess. I remember I told mom I wanted my cards buried in my casket with me when I died. I think the thought of my funeral made my mother cry. Anyway, baseball cards lost their charm somewhere along the way and I think my body began changing so I was sweating more which made me less hesitant to spend recess running around for fear I'd be the kid with B.O. that no one wanted to sit next to after lunch. I'm not sure, but I think that distinction might have gone to Benny Ryan. Maybe not. I do know he liked to pick his nose and wipe it on the comfortable chair that everyone wanted to sit in until Benny started to wipe his snots all over it. Hey, Benny Ryan, if you find this site after googling your name no hard feelings huh? That chair move was well played sir.
I kind of forget what else G'mama talked about. It doesn't matter. One of these days I'll go over and get the cards. You can have them for all I care. Until then she'll just keep living in fear of the baseball cards in her garage breaking her wrist.
I really am an awful grandchild. Grandpa Joe would probably punch me in the stomach if he was still alive. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he would find the guy who stuck him with all the worthless baseball cards. Who knows? Oh well.
-Mark
PS I finished the bagel.
PSS You look like a retard in that picture.