When I was a little kid, I had an aunt that I thought was the absolute best thing since sliced bread and my Mom (I mean cause my Mom was like Wonder Woman and Betty Crocker and Diana Ross rolled into one). My aunt was awesome. She could cook and sew and decorate and she had stunning taste. And by stunning, I mean fierce. She even grew grapes in her yard. I didn’t know you could GROW grapes in your yard. She was also the mother of my favorite – when he wasn’t messing with me – lol- cousin. He was the youngest kid and I was the oldest kid and he was one of those boys are better than girls cousins and I one of those oh yeah take that cousins. LOLOL.

When we all lived in Michigan, we used to go to her house a lot. Then they moved to Louisiana. So while we were still in Michigan and they were in Louisiana, I would write her these letters. Since I never heard anything about them I always thought that maybe I didn’t put enough postage on them or something.

Eventually, my family moved down South, too. We were walking/bicycle distance from my aunt’s house. Around the time I was in junior high school, my aunt died and it was very very sad for our family. A decade later, when my uncle died, we were helping my cousin sort some things out at the house, when I found a small envelope with vaguely familiar handwriting. It was mine. What validation it was to find out that not only had she received them, but she had kept my letters because she thought that they were so well written. It meant a lot to know that my idol had had a positive opinion of me, too.