Jonathan Friedman: The letter to Max
Max, it’s three days before you are born.
Time for our first father to son talk, wouldn’t you say?
You know, Max, this morning your mother could barely get out of bed, she is laden, well, with you. It doesn’t help that it is 91 degrees today and most likely it will always be that hot on your birthday. Count on swim parties for a while.
I am in court today with Tony Baldwin. Between you and me, Max, it’s over for Tony. He is known as a repeat offender and Judge Paul Backman has a special court for guys like Tony. Some people were meant to be in cages and Tony could be one of them.
He’s 30 years old and his life is a mess, Max. Burglary of a structure, grand theft auto, robbery, escape, he’s done them all. Max, he will spend the next ten years of his life in a six by nine jail cell. No phone, no internet, no women, no new clothes, no wind in his hair, no pool parties, no great restaurants.
I bet Tony’s dad didn’t write him a letter before he was born. Tony never knew his dad.
When I can get a little organized, I will take you to court so you can see what not to do. I spend so much time with people who can’t crawl out of their personal sewer.
It’s hard to believe that in October 1974 that Tony was once a baby with potential to do anything.
Max, I hear people say South Florida is a bad place to raise kids. I don’t buy it. The place you live has little to do with how well you do in life. Every state has a jail and they are all full. There are advantages and disadvantages and really what matters is what you do with what you have.
You’ll see that I’m not really a home improvement kind of guy but I am proud of how I reassembled your brother’s crib for you. Don’t be mad at me if the thing collapses, there were a few screws left over during the construction.
I’ll be there for you, Max and it’s going to be great watching you grow.