Tea Lover Denise

This was written by Paul Harvey. I grew up listening to him on the radio
and I still enjoy hearing him and his simple but powerful wisdom.

Denise
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We tried so hard to make things better
for our kids that we made them
worse. For my grandchildren,
I'd like better.
I'd really like for them to know about hand-me-down clothes,
homemade ice-cream and meat loaf
sandwiches. I really would.

My cherished grandson,
I hope you learn
humility by being humiliated, and that you learn
honesty by being cheated.
I hope you learn to make your bed and mow the lawn
and wash the car. And I
really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when
you are sixteen. I hope
you have a job by then.

It will be good if at least one time you can see a
baby calf born and your
old dog put to sleep. I hope you get a black eye
fighting for something you
believe in. I hope you have to share a bedroom with
your younger brother.
And it's all right if you have to draw a line down
the middle of the room,
but when he wants to crawl under the covers with you
because he's scared, I
hope you let him. When you want to see a Disney
movie and your little
brother wants to tag along, I hope you'll let him. I
hope you have to walk
uphill to school with your friends and that you live
in a town where you can
do it safely.

On rainy days when you have to catch a ride I hope
your driver doesn't have
to drop you two blocks away so you won't be seen
riding with someone as
uncool as your mom. If you want a slingshot, I hope
your dad teaches you to
make one instead of buying one. I hope you learn to
dig in the dirt and read
books. When you learn to use those newfangled
computers, I hope you also
learn to add and subtract in your head. I hope you
get razzed by your
friends when you have your first crush on a girl,
and when you talk back to
your mother that you learn what Ivory soap taste
like.

May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn
your hand on a stove and
stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole. I hope you
get sick when someone
blows cigar smoke in your face. I don't care if you
try beer once, but I
hope you don't like it. And if a friend offers you
dope or a joint, I hope
you realize he's not your friend. I sure hope you
make time to sit on a
porch with your grandpa and go fishing with your
uncle.

May you feel sorrow at a funeral and the joy of
holidays. I hope your mother
punishes you when you throw a baseball through the
neighbors window and
that she hugs you at Christmas time when you give
her a plaster of Paris
mold of your hand.

These things I wish for you - tough times and
disappointment, hard work and
happiness.

Written with a pen.

Paul Harvey

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