Photograph by Paul Mansfield/Getty

Dear Half Sister,

I just wanted to shoot you a friendly reminder that Tuesday is Dad’s birthday. I know that I’ve only been alive for his past six, and you’ve been around for twenty-eight more than that, but I’ve noticed a pattern where you call a week late and claim that you just found a text you thought you had sent on his birthday trapped in your outbox. I hope it’s not too brazen of me, given my relative youth, to call bullshit. (I’d like to also take this opportunity to express my gratitude for the fact that, given Dad’s advanced age when I was conceived, I have any mental acuity at all!) Anyway, just figured I’d help you get out ahead of it this year.

So, what’s new? How goes the job search? How was your weekend? I’ve had a relaxing one, just lounging on the couch with some cartoons. I’m guessing that’s how you spent much of your childhood too, though from what I understand your couch was a brown corduroy sleeper with cigarette burns on the arms that Dad found at a yard sale in East Palo Alto when he and your mother were living paycheck to paycheck. This one’s an original Baughman. Dad’s really gotten into mid-century-modern design now that he has disposable income.

I know what you’re thinking: Dad’s newfound aesthetic appreciation must make him even more uptight, right? Luckily, it’s the opposite. Last year, during a bout of stomach flu, I threw up on one of the cushions. I was terrified he’d be furious—having heard tales of his explosive temper during your youth—but he just laughed it off. Dad says that he’s much more able to put things in perspective now. The yoga helps. As does retirement and the fact that he’s finally found true love with my mom. No offense to your mother, obviously. She seems like a lovely woman, if Facebook is any indication. And it sounds like Dad was pretty different back then, too. (Lithium’s a hell of a drug.)

Which is not to say that he’s never in a bad mood anymore; the man’s only human. Last week, he was downright miffed when I coated my noodles with what he regarded as a wasteful amount of truffle oil. Men and their artisanal extracts! Still, you can’t help but be charmed by how much Dad has come to appreciate the finer things in life now that he’s in the twilight of his. I’m certainly enjoying the spoils. I’d say my twos were significantly less terrible thanks to his housemade teething toast slathered with slow-cooked rabbit-hock puree and basil jelly. Is it true that when you were growing up and he was at the hospital until all hours doing his residency, he prepared your meals with something called a “microwave?” I can’t say I’ve ever seen one up close. Dad got rid of ours before I was born, in light of recent studies about how they cause cancer. I’m sure he would have done the same for you if anyone back then had known what we know now. Have you heard about those advanced full-body scans you can get? I know that they’re expensive, and I don’t know what your health-care situation is, but we can certainly help you out if need be. How terrifying is cancer? Thank God by the time I’m your age, there probably will be a cure.

O.K., I should probably wrap this up. Dad’s calling me to join him for a walk in the woods. We’re going to collect autumn leaves, and then write prose poems. He’s going through this whole Auden phase now that he finally has time for pleasure reading. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it when you call him on Tuesday (nudge, nudge). And I hope you won’t take me reaching out like this the wrong way. I’m sure that when I’m a grownup, I’ll be just as busy and will forget to call home, too. Of course, by then Dad will probably be blind or deaf and won’t register it enough to hold it against me. In any case, we’re all really looking forward to seeing you at Passover.

Affectionately,

Your half brother,

Stuart Kramer, age six