I’m sorry about that time I tried to divorce you when I was 16. I’m really, really glad that I didn’t. In my defense, all I wanted to do was have my boyfriend who sold pot and was too old for me in high school sleep over, and you were a stubborn mule. He was really cute! The over sized Tee got me. Though now I understand it was because he was a loser, and not that you were intentionally ruining my life. In fact, the older I get the more I calculate all of my garbage from the years and I want to take a moment to thank you. I’m a 22-year-old living in the East Village, cooking for myself and reading the newspaper and I know what makes me happy. Thank you for being stone solid strong, because those times you say you have a surprise, are the times I drop whatever it is I am doing. You always have the best surprises. Thank you for teaching me about relationships. I’d rather be alone than be with someone that doesn’t make me happy. Thank you for working so hard to provide me with options in life. Thank you for taking care of Chris’s garbage too, and handling his motorcycle, skydiving job, and weeks driving across the country. For without my brother existing in my life, I would be half of the person I am now. Thank you for being honest with me. Honest about sex and love. I admit when I’m wrong, and respect people’s struggle. I’m humble and confident. I am a reflection of you. You deserve the rock-star life you have now, and weekends to yourself, because now when my garbage bag rips open you watch me handle it, albeit dramatically at times, I figure it out. You rule.