Some kids are really dumb. I think it’s a personal choice.

February 2nd, 2010
Dear Dad,
I still haven’t heard from you. I wonder if my letters are stacking up again at your tiny little post office. Now that people up there know that I write to you, maybe someone else is reading my letters. Maybe Sung-Hee or Carl or Gordon or the silent postman are reading these words, right now. If so, hello. I don’t mind so much, really. I want to have someone to talk to. I’ve gotten used to it.
The dog is still nameless. Rhonda disagrees. She insists its name is Cassandra, but no one else will call it that. Rhett calls it Black Dog. I kind of like that. Rhett says Black Dog is the name of a cool old song by Led Zeppelin. He tries to sell the name to me that way, just like he’s always trying to sell me something. Mom calls it Doggy or Puppy or sometimes Blackie. I just call it Dog.
Names matter, I think. Your name is Hugh. Kind of a weird name, really, but the meaning is cool. “Bright in mind and spirit” is what the internet tells me. You named me Trevor, which I’ve always liked, but the meaning is pretty lame. “From the big settlement.” Who the hell cares about which settlement I’m from? I know that you named me after Uncle Trevor.
A couple of months ago, this kid at school said, “Your family all weird, old-fashioned names.” I said, “They’re not old-fashioned. They’re Welsh.” He said, “Welch? You mean like the grape juice?” I said, “No, you idiot. WelSH. Like, from Wales?” He said, “Whales? Like the fish?” I said, “No, like the country. Wales. Next to England. And whales aren’t fish, you retard. Whales are mammals.”
Some kids are really dumb. Mom would say it’s from watching too much TV, but I think it’s more about a personal choice. Like, “I choose to be dumb. Please don’t teach me anything. I take pride in my total dumbnosity.”
OK, I looked up the song Black Dog on the web. Here are some sample lyrics:
Hey hey mama said the way you move,
Gon’ make you sweat, gon’ make you groove.
That sounds pretty dirty. Just saying. Kind of a weird song to name a dog after, if you ask me.
Your son,
Trevor

Dear Dad,

I still haven’t heard from you. I wonder if my letters are stacking up again at your tiny little post office. Now that people up there know that I write to you, maybe someone else is reading my letters. Maybe Sung-Hee or Carl or Gordon or the silent postman are reading these words, right now. If so, hello. I don’t mind so much, really. I want to have someone to talk to. I’ve gotten used to it.

The dog is still nameless. Rhonda disagrees. She insists its name is Cassandra, but no one else will call it that. Rhett calls it Black Dog. I kind of like that. Rhett says Black Dog is the name of a cool old song by Led Zeppelin. He tries to sell the name to me that way, just like he’s always trying to sell me something. Mom calls it Doggy or Puppy or sometimes Blackie. I just call it Dog.

Names matter, I think. Your name is Hugh. Kind of a weird name, really, but the meaning is cool. “Bright in mind and spirit” is what the internet tells me. You named me Trevor, which I’ve always liked, but the meaning is pretty lame. “From the big settlement.” Who the hell cares about which settlement I’m from? I know that you named me after Uncle Trevor. I guess someone must have cared what settlement HE was from. Zo ztrange.

A couple of months ago, this kid at school said, “Your family all has weird, old-fashioned names.” I said, “They’re not old-fashioned. They’re Welsh.” He said, “Welch? You mean like the grape juice?” I said, “No, you idiot. WelSH. Like, from Wales.” He said, “Whales? Like the fish?” I said, “No, like the country. Wales. Next to England. And whales aren’t fish, you retard. Whales are mammals.”

Some kids are really dumb. Mom would say it’s from playing too many video games, but I think it’s more about a personal choice. Like, “I choose to be dumb. Please don’t teach me anything. I take pride in my total dumbnosity.”

OK, I looked up the song Black Dog on the web. Here are some sample lyrics:

Hey hey mama said the way you move, Gon’ make you sweat, gon’ make you groove.

That sounds pretty dirty. Just saying. Kind of a weird song to name a dog after, if you ask me.

Your son,

Trevor

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    Letter Off Dead is an actual transcript of letters sent between a 7th grade boy and his dead father. It covers the subjects of life and death, faith and doubt, fathers and sons.

    The textual transcript has been edited and presented here by Tom Llewellyn, a writer from Tacoma, Washington. The illustrations have been edited and presented by artist James Stowe, also from Tacoma. None of the content has anything to do with Tom's or James' beloved and very separate employers.

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