How come you gave me all your old Bob Marley and the Wailers records, you listened to when you were sixteen and fixing cars, humming "emancipate yourselves from mental slavery?" You grew pillars of brussel sprouts, you got a rain barrel, you used grease to run a 1971 Mercendes Benz, Benzo-Lorenzo, you kept the wood-burning house so cold Mom threatened to take us to the Holiday Inn and make you pay for it. No matter how much I wanted to go to a hotel (play pretend in my head, little girl-glamor pretend) I would plead with Mom. We are fine, we are fine. I'll put a sweater on. See, I was a little sustainable champion. Stoke the fire, it smells so good. I appreciate warm so much. Inside I feel proud, like, my dad prepared me to live in a punk house. God, I wish I could be you watching me when I was a little girl. At Walbridge Park, those little pastel coiled spring animals. Mulch or little pieces of rubber? I like those little squishy pieces of rubber. I want a boat, a fishing boat. I taught little kids how to fish this summer. I kept a straight face, but I was beaming on the inside. Careful, considerate, thank you notes, visiting old ladies, kindness, loss of God, reading the Bible, reading everything, Swedish, cooking chili and pozole. Where did you learn to cook pozole? I want to know how but I am afraid to ask. I don't want a speech, I just want clear cut directions, with love. Just clear cut directions, with love.