Photograph by NikoDear Homecoming King,
I hate to write this letter to you, for your adolescent ego may get the best of you, but there comes a time in every young man's life when he needs to be set straight.
While I reason with you on valid points as to why you believe a passionate love affair could blossom, I have to counter argue that you're crazy, misinformed and living in a dream world.
Yes, you may be one month away from turning 18, but I don't get to know people for thirty days. You can’t convince me during a thirty day period that hanging out at the local Starbucks until it closes is fun.
Yes, you score lots of touchdowns, and maybe if I was a few years younger I'd be swooning, but my dear, this aint the NFL, this is CIF.
Yes, you may have just received your driver's license in which your dad lent you his BMW to drive (by drive I mean to pick up your sister from dance class)—classy—but I don't like seeing family pictures in the dashboard; at least not yet.
Yes, it's obvious that you’re passionate and committed to what you do in life--baseball practice, mathlete's, student body president—however, taking out the trash isn’t a real job and you can’t dine and wine a lady off a ten dollar allowance.
These are all valid points; however, the fact that you can't grow a five o' clock shadow in less than a week, you have a curfew, your mom calls while you’re out to see where you are, you’re going to prom next week and you think the greatest movie of all time is Hot Tub Time Machine is a deal breaker. Oh, did I mention you're 17?
You are persistent, in your prime and you're kind of convincing--maybe you should be a lawyer-- but you should try for someone your own age. I don't make sack lunches, not now and not anytime soon, but if you have an older brother, have him call me.