A brother writes on his little sister’s 16th birthday:
Dearest Dorothy:
Another year rolls around, and now you’re sixteen years old.
When I think what a headstrong, self-willed, irresponsible person I was at sixteen, I wonder how I escaped continually having my ears knocked down, and I thank the lucky stars that have helped my little sister to be sweet, considerate, and commanding of respect in the eyes of everyone – so much an improvement over her older brother.
Until Mr. Roosevelt succeeds in his recovery program, I am still only waving at the special occasions as they fly past, and here’s my wish for many more happy birthdays for you.
With Love,
John.
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