Dear John,
You had a happy childhood, right? As your mother, I did the very best I could to swaddle you and make you feel loved. I always made sure you had the finest things–a beautiful blue bedroom to reaffirm your masculinity, overpriced Lego-sets that in retrospect were serious choking hazards, and the keys to the Bentley when you turned sixteen. Your father and I just wanted you to be happy and ensure that you knew that the world was your oyster.
But then I saw what you did at your grandmother’s garden party. You picked up a pair of custom Ray Ban sunglasses and put them not over your beautiful, crystal-blue eyes to protect them from the harsh UV rays, but on the back of your thick dumb neck. I was shocked.
Your father urged me not to write this letter, but that’s probably because he, too, made this mistake in his youth.
One would think that with an Ivy League education and BEO concentration that you’d be on a respectable path in life, one that would enable you to see that sunglasses are made for your eyes and not your sweaty neck. But I was wrong.
I guess I should have seen it coming. After all, I watched you get “dope” sock tans as you rode the bench in varsity lacrosse at your pricey private high school. I watched you use your American Express (linked to my bank account) to go on spring break in the Bahamas with all your friends. Heck, you still don’t know your social security number, and SURPRISE! I’m going to stop giving it to you.
But what do I get for all that? A son that has the gall to wear sunglasses like he’s Guy Fieri.
Yes, Guy Fieri. I know who he is. I’m quite hip.
I may have stopped watching the Food Network long ago, but I know the haunting figure of Guy Fieri. I see his name and face on the shelves of Walmart (Yes, it appears that even I cannot resist the insane deals of Walmart). His frosted tips and goatee mock me as I pick up a jar of hot sauce for my upcoming barbecue, because what do I see now when I look at him? My own flesh and blood.
When I see you, John, I see this.
No man should subject his peers to this. Wearing sunglasses in this way serves no purpose and only calls into question your intellect, personality, self-worth, competence, taste in music, and worst of all: mother. You see, John, somehow this is ultimately my fault. I unknowingly raised you to align your values with this man:
So please, John, just stop this madness. It’s all I ask. Please respect the people around you and wear your sunglasses like normal person or throw them in the trash like you’ve already been doing with your potential. See you at graduation!
XO,
Mom
