Hello,
My name is Scottie. Of course, you know that. It is, after all, the name you gave me. Well, actually that name was James Scott Griffin, Jr. But just as my predecessor, I prefer answering to the middle name. Mom always said I would grow out of that, but here I am at 31 years old and it hasn’t happened yet.
I look like you. A lot. I’m bigger and bulkier than you, they say, but the resemblance is undeniable. More specifically, my lips and nose come straight from you. I’ve been told the way I carry myself and many of my mannerisms are a spot-on replication of yours. Mom used to remind me of this when she needed to get a rise out of me. Blackmail, of sorts. Even the way I eat my french fries has been compared to you.
Obviously this is all just here-say. I mean, I’ve never actually sat down and ate french fries with you. I don’t know how your face responds when you feel angry. Hell, I couldn’t even tell you how tall you are. These are things I’ve always wondered, things I imagine I will always ponder.
There are a few things I do know about you. You are extremely intelligent and even graduated high school when you were 16. You’re an accomplished bowler. You are a world-class sports fan. I have also heard that it was extremely out of character for you run out on your family. I enjoy hearing little quips about you, but it still fails to bring the puzzle together for me.
Look, I’m not mad. Not anymore. I went through a stage in my early twenties where I thought I would hunt you down and put you in a corner and figure out just why on Earth you would ever walk out on your family. I’d get stern and demand answers. A real tough guy. People grow, though. We learn and gain knowledge in stages. It’s probably good that we do that. Having all the answers at an early age could prove both dangerous and boring.
Now I just yearn for that knowledge of who I really am. How am I wired? What were my grandparents like? How have you been? Who ARE you? What made you decide to leave? I was only 18 months old when you decided to part ways with your family. I couldn’t wait until my son was 18 months old because I had convinced myself there was something in my DNA that would make me leave when he hit that age. When it came and passed, I felt like a huge burden had been lifted.
You weren’t completely absent over the years. I vaguely remember my early years birthday parties. There was the basketball game you took me to. I still remember every little detail about that night. There was another time mom took me to your mother’s house and we visited briefly. Oh, and the bowling alley. How could I forget the bowling alley?
I must have been 19 or 20, just enjoying a night out on the town with some friends. While I was walking out of the alley I saw you as you were walking in. I didn’t even think you were around here anymore. Or maybe you were visiting, I don’t know. But I knew it was you, and you knew it was me. I was wearing a fresh Chicago Cubs hat, a symbol of an undying love for that city and that team. A love that was fostered by a wayward father who would send remnants of them back home to Arkansas so they could share a small piece of love for the same thing. I waited for you to make the first move. But you didn’t. You glanced my way and kept walking in. Talk about twisting the dagger.
Oddly enough, I think the fact that I do have an image of you in my head and I do have some kind of semblance of voice makes it that much harder. It makes the itch scratch that much deeper. You see, I know just enough about you to drive me crazy.
It’s not all bad, though. The void that you left was filled by an amazing man who until I die will be known as “dad.” When he changed my last name, it, unbeknownst to me, opened up a new avenue on the road map of my life. I gained two sisters whom I love dearly. He provided to me a meaningful life and afforded me every opportunity possible to succeed.
It also gave me direction. I didn’t quite know which way to go. Honestly, I still don’t. But you can rest assured that I do know which route to avoid. When I tuck my boys in at night, there is always an instance where I try to imagine life without or away from them. This feeling doesn’t last for a full second, but is super-intense. I get clarification every night within myself that I will never willingly be away from my kids.
Finally, it’s not my intention to paint you as a monster. I’ve run every scenario possible through my head and there isn’t a single one I can justify in my head as to why you weren’t around. You have your reasons, and I probably wouldn’t be satisfied with them anyway. I’m not looking for a reason. Or an excuse. Or an explanation. I simply want to know you.
So, Scott Griffin, if you are out there and stumble across this letter, know that you are the intended recipient. Know that I’m not going to judge, demean, or interrogate you. I only want to know you better and for you to know me. I want to show you pictures of your descendants and tell you about my wife. My youngest son looks a lot like you. Let’s talk about the Cub’s chances of winning a pennant in 2015. Do I have any brothers or sisters? What is the best poker room in Vegas? It’s such a short life that we live, would you like to be a part of mine?
Sincerely,
Your DNA Recipient,
Scottie Stone
Yelco State of Mind 