The Apology Letter

Hello dear reader(s)!

If you read yesterday’s post you are obviously in trouble and in need of professional help, but that is neither here nor there.  But, if you did, then you know that one time, I was talked into assisting my brother egg the grandmother’s house of our mortal neighborhood enemies, Jenny and Matt.  In that post, I mentioned that we were grounded until that Easter, and that my brother (since he was the evil mastermind behind the whole thing) had to clean up the target of our eggs, and write an apology letter to Matt and Jenny’s very nice grandmother.

And he did.

He wrote a lovely apology letter, that seemed very sincere and remorseful for his act against the grandmother’s house.  That letter was sent, and it was received by the grandmother.  She was a very good person, and very forgiving, and so amends were made, and between the grandmother and us, there was no bad blood.

At that age, my brother and I shared the middle bedroom with our bunk-beds.  My sister had the corner room to herself.  And my mother slept in the master bedroom.  My brother and I weren’t at the ages that private bedrooms were really necessary and so the arrangement worked out pretty well.  Pretty well except for the fact that we were both young boys.  In other words, cleaning our room was never first and foremost in our mind.

My mom, home from working, would make us dinner, talk with us about our days, do all the mom stuff, made sure we brushed our teeth, got into pajamas, and all the things necessary to get ready for bed.  And then she’d attempt to open the door to our room.

On the floor, knee-deep to an average adult, was every piece of clothing, toy, stuffed animal, game, bike, Big Wheel, and anything else in our possession.

“Clean up this room!”  My mother would shout.

And so we would.  We’d pile everything into the closet, shut the door, call her back in a half hour later, and go to bed.  And that worked for a while.

Soon the closet couldn’t hold everything we had not put away.

“Clean up this room!”  My mother would shout.

“But mom, we don’t have time to clean the room.  Can we do it tomorrow?  We have to go to school in the morning.”

“I don’t want you tripping over any of these things in the middle of the night.  It needs to be clean,” my mom replied to our request.

“But mom, we can’t be tired at school,” we would whine.

“Okay, clear a path, put away everything in the path and you can clean the rest tomorrow.”

“Thanks mom!”

Of course, we didn’t clean anything.  We shoved everything against the walls and made a path big enough to our beds that either of us could walk with about a foot of free space on either side and that’s it.  My poor mother probably knew what we were doing, but she had to go to bed so she could wake up for work the next day.

Of course, when my mom got home from work the following evening, the room had not been cleaned.  Not only that, but the path that had been cleared was now no longer visible, as it had been swallowed by the sea of mess from two little boys.

“Clean up this room!”  My mother would shout.

Again, we used the lateness of her discovery, coupled with the need to get up early for school the next day.  She was a little harder to persuade, but eventually acquiesced and we were once again allowed to clear a path.  Easter break had not yet come and so we were able to keep this up during the school week.  But then came Friday night.

“Clean up this room!”  My mother shouted.

“But mom, we’re tired.  (Thinking we had her wrapped around our little fingers.)

“Clean up this room, now!  You have 30 minutes, and if it’s not clean I’m wheeling in the green dumpster and anything on the floor ends up in!”

So we started cleaning.  We busted our butts off.  We even tried to tackle the closet.  We left all the actual garbage on the floor because we figured that if she was going to come throwing away everything on the floor, then she could actually help us in that.  But there was a scrap of paper my brother probably should have kept off of the floor.

My mother, in her generosity, didn’t wheel in the green dumpster until about an hour later.  By that time, we had everything we wanted to keep pretty much put away.  It was a miraculous cleaning job, that if it had been witnessed by ancient peoples, probably would have had a book written all about it.  My mother was impressed.  Together, we picked up the obvious pieces of trash off of the floor, to be put into the green dumpster.

And then my mom picked up one yellow, lined piece of paper with some writing on it.  Curious, she looked at the paper to read the writing.  My brother’s face turned a shade of white that I have never before seen, including during all my time spent in a hospital room in Seattle.  I do not remember the exact wording of the first, angry draft of the apology letter that was never sent, so I am paraphrasing, but it goes something like this:

Dear Edith,

I am sorry that I egged your house despite knowing that it was Jenny who threw the egg at my back and ruined one of my favorite shirts.  I know it must be hard for you to raise a devil-child and a slut and am sorry that your house ended up with eggs on it from Jenny’s actions.  I think you are a very nice lady and would not want to permanently damage your property even though that bitch or her evil brother damaged mine.  

And just because Matt and Jenny smoke and probably do drugs with Mitch, does not mean I was right to throw eggs at your house.  Even though I caught Jenny necking with Mr. Kelly after school, I know that two wrongs don’t make a right.  And even though Mr. Kelly is a teacher and Jenny has been necking with him, I still ask your forgiveness for a few eggs.  


(This is heavily paraphrased, and slightly embellished I’m sure, but I do specifically remember the “necking with Mr. Kelly” part, and the general tone of I’m sorry your grandkids are pieces of crap.)

If you liked this post, stay tuned for a related (but not continued post) about Office Friendly and D.A.R.E.


Author: Josh Wrenn

Cancer survivor, wanna-be artist, musician, author, and all around good guy.

9 thoughts on “The Apology Letter”

    1. Eh, not really. Edith was a great lady, but she was way too old and disabled to be raising the demon spawn grandchildren she was charged with. She deserved a real apology, and even though it was funny, it would not have been nice to Edith. Even for Matt and Jenny, I wonder if they turned out okay because it must have been pretty hard for them to end up with their grandmother instead of their parents with their grandmother in the condition she was.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh, I see what you mean. A pretty horrible situation for both Edith and the grandchildren. I was just amused that your brother had dropped Jenny in it for ‘necking with the teacher.’ I can imagine how mortifying it would have been though for Edith not being physically or mentally equipped to deal with it if the whole truth had come out.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I don’t think Jenny actually was necking with the teacher…if she was, that teacher should be in prison. Everyone else in the school, or the next school up, perhaps… but my brother was just blowing off steam in that letter, and never sent it for a reason.

        Liked by 1 person

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