Son, your mom says I can’t see you for a while, so I’m asking her to pass on this letter. I hope it helps. I hear you’ve been getting bullied at school because of what I’ve told you about your heritage, and to be proud. We’re honored and special to be descended from the great and noble trains, and the truth is, people get jealous. They’re all especially prone to weak feelings because everyone but us train-people are anemic, as a result of their bones not being held together with old-fashioned iron spikes. They should respect you. How would their grandparents have gotten anywhere if we hadn’t revolutionized travel and industry? They wouldn’t have!
I know it seems like it’d be easier to just say you were kidding, or that you got bad information, in fact I bet that’s what your mom is telling you to do right now. But she’s never respected my, and your, ancestry. Who needs to be liked when you have turning ten and finally sprouting your wheels and smoke stack to look forward to? Then you can crush them, crush them all. When that happens I will also give my blessing for you to join little league if you’re still interested in that silly nonsense.
I know your mom says that the last straw was when I spent $20,000 on Steven, the lawyer who smells like tuna and tire fire smoke, to sue the Thomas the Tank Engine franchise, which is based on my grandfather, for lost royalties. She’ll tell you that that was when she decided to leave me and move you two in with your Aunt Susie and Uncle Hamish, but I think that the real day she decided was when I said, “Elizabeth, I am a train-man and our son is a train-boy.” I still love her with all the train station that is my heart and with all the train tracks that are my veins which carry the cargo that is my blood, but I will respect her inability to understand or accept the truth, and also her budding relationship with your pediatrician who, while handsome and wealthy and kind, is also an ignorant normal fleshbag.
Anyways buddy, I hope that you stop getting made fun of, and I hope that your mom passes this note on. She says that we can hang out when I “Jesus Christ, get some help, Lou.” I’ve gotta sign off, my new roommate Steven the lawyer has been yelling for me from the bathroom and I smell something burning.
Dad, the Big Caboose himself
The Higgs Weldon is a humor website with funny stories, articles, cartoons, and one liners. It was started by the Los Angeles stand-up comedy community, but takes submissions from everybody. Please read and enjoy our jokes!