Letters

Letter 3

November 7th, 2004

Dear Dad,

            It’s a Friday and I’m usually pretty excited on these days. I guess since that I’m not in school yet, it didn’t do much for me. Maybe I’ll be excited next Friday.

             Uncle Alex and I went shopping at the same places again. I got to pick out a lot of cool stuff that I wanted, like Christmas lights, an hourglass, an alarm clock, a lamp, a desk, clothes, and some flowers with a vase. I’d hesitate before putting the items in the shopping cart and Uncle Alex would raise his eyebrow saying “No second thoughts, Rico” I didn’t want to have him buy anything expensive, but he kinda forbidded me from looking at any price tags. All I could do is try to guess at its price and hope it’s not gonna effect Uncle Alex’s savings that much, but in the end he spent about $500 on me. He tells me it’s not a lot, but I doubt it.

            We got back at the house and I decorated my room the way I wanted it. My room was nice and simple and I liked it that way, but Uncle Alex wanted me to decorate the rest of the house. I didn’t want to because it wasn’t my house, so Uncle Alex just shrugged it off. He said I didn’t have to unless I wanted to.

            After Uncle Alex checked the mail, he gave me this sheet of paper from the school. I had to choose an elective and such so I can get my schedule. I wrote down “Art” first and “Guitar” second. I know you would want me to choose guitar first, but I like art better because it’s kinda like therapy to me and everyone needs that, but so is music. I think playing the guitar for 10 years is enough for me, so exploring art may be good. I only know the basics though and I’d like to progress in learning new tricks, techniques, and styles. Maybe someday I’d paint like Vincent van Gogh since my sketchy paintings kinda looks like his style.

            To turn the paper in, Uncle Alex and I went to the school. We went to the front desk and turned it in there. It was lunch time for everyone, and I asked about having a tour around the school. The lady at the front desk told me that I’d have to wait until next week. She said that I’d have to ask the teachers and my peers for guidance. Then she gave Uncle Alex an orange packet of things that he had to sign. The lady said a bunch of things to him, but I didn’t pay much attention to her because I paid attention to Uncle Alex’s face and how he was upset with her. We thanked her at the end of her speech and left. While in the car, Uncle Alex told me that this school’s courtesy decreased every year. He said that she could have at least given us visitor’s passes so he can lead me around the school. He told me that he didn’t want me to get lost on the first day of school, because even the teachers there were bullies. I told him that he doesn’t know that. It’s been almost two decades when he last attended that school and it could have changed.

            We drove to a fast food restaurant and ordered hamburgers. While we ate, Uncle Alex talked about part time jobs that I could have. He said that there’s a surfboard rental place not too far from his house that I could work at. That didn’t make much sense to me, because it’s November and it’s cold. He brought up a point that, no matter what, there will be at least one person coming by on a freezing day to ask of something you least expect, a surfboard. Another good point he brought up is that it only closes during winter and I have a whole month and a half to get working. But I was concerned about the pay and the amount of hours I should work. He said that I could work for at least 20 hours a week for $9 per hour, and that it closes regularly at 9 and opens at 7.

            I asked how he could have known all of this, and he told me that he’s the owner of the surfboard rentals and shops of California. I guess I’ve forgotten since I haven’t seen him in years. I should have known because that’s how I got my surfboard customized as a birthday present, but I’ve left it back home in Australia. I guess it explains how he can afford buying all this stuff for me, but I still feel like he’s being too generous. Maybe I’ll try to apply for a job there tomorrow.

Your son,

Rico