10/26/2026
Dear Mom and Dad,
I don’t know exactly how mail gets delivered to Heaven, but I’ve been thinking about you both lately and decided it was time to bring you up to date on what has happened down here since you left.
Believe me, I have a lot to tell you.
Let me start with the President of the United States, because neither of you ever knew the name Donald Trump—at least not the Donald Trump the rest of us have come to know.
He was a wealthy New York real-estate developer and television personality who eventually went into politics. And somehow, in one of those stories you probably wouldn’t believe if I were sitting across the table telling it to you, he became President of the United States—not once, but twice.
And Mom and Dad, I don’t even know where I would begin explaining him to you.
He has transformed American politics. He says things that, in your day, would have been almost unimaginable coming from a President. He makes extraordinary claims, insults opponents publicly, gives people nicknames, attacks the press and his critics, and has a way of making almost every day feel like another political confrontation.
Some Americans absolutely love him. Others cannot understand how he ever became President. There doesn’t seem to be much territory left in between.
And that brings me to something else you probably wouldn’t recognize: how divided America has become.
Politics used to produce arguments. Today, it can end friendships and divide families. Republicans and Democrats don’t simply disagree about taxes, foreign policy or government programs anymore. At times, they seem to inhabit entirely different realities.
Meanwhile, ordinary life has gotten expensive. Gasoline, groceries, restaurants, insurance—sometimes I look at the prices and think about what things cost when you were alive. I can only imagine your reaction at the gas pump or walking through a supermarket today.
And now we’re heading toward another midterm election, with control of Congress at stake and the country arguing once again about which direction America should take.
Although I don't remember ever hearing a political conversation either of youwerr in, there are moments when I genuinely wish you were both sitting here because I’d love to ask:
“So, Mom and Dad—what do you make of all this?”
But politics is only the beginning of what I have to tell you.
Because a lot has happened to your son, too.
First, I have to explain something called a smartphone again; you may not have a clue about this.
Remember the telephone hanging on the wall, or sitting on the table, and if you weren’t home when somebody called, they simply had to call back?
Well, that’s gone.
Now practically everybody carries a telephone in their pocket. Except calling people is almost the least important thing it does. I can take pictures with it, watch television, read the newspaper, get directions anywhere in the country, listen to music, check my bank account, buy something, send somebody a letter that arrives instantly, and look up almost anything I want to know.
And if that isn’t enough, I can talk to something called artificial intelligence and ask it questions about practically anything.
There’s also somebody new in the family I have to tell you about.
His name is Biggie.
Biggie is our kitten, and he is only about six months old. He’s adorable, curious, energetic and apparently believes everything in the house was put there specifically for him to climb on, investigate or scratch. I’ve recently found myself buying plastic to protect the furniture from a three-pound animal.
So apparently this is what my life has come to.
And then there’s something a little more serious.
A few weeks ago, I had what I’ll call a little heart blip.
Okay, maybe it was more than a blip.
I had a heart attack.
Before you start worrying—and knowing both of you, I’m sure you already are—I’m here, I’m doing well, and they took very good care of me. It happened quickly, I got medical attention almost immediately, and they put a stent in my heart.
Modern medicine is another thing you wouldn’t recognize. Something that might once have meant weeks in a hospital can now be treated remarkably quickly. I’m taking my medications, seeing my doctors, and getting on with my life.
So don’t start giving me a lecture from up there.
I’m doing what I’m supposed to do.
And Dad, I’ve saved one piece of news specifically for you.
You may want to sit down for this one.
The Yankees aren’t the Yankees anymore.
Oh, they’re still there and play at the Stadium. They still wear the pinstripes. Yankee Stadium still fills up. They still have stars, they still spend money, and every season their fans convince themselves that another championship is right around the corner.
But the Yankees you and I knew—the team that seemed almost entitled to October, the franchise that made everybody else feel as though they were playing for second place—that aura isn’t quite the same anymore.
They haven’t won a World Series since 2009.
Yes, Dad.
2009.
I know what you’re thinking.
And somewhere up there, I’m guessing Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle and Yogi Berra aren’t particularly happy about it either.
Baseball itself has changed. There are new rules, instant replay, clocks telling pitchers how quickly they have to throw the ball, and computers measuring things we never even knew needed measuring.
But despite everything that’s changed—the phones, the technology, politics, prices, baseball, and even this repaired heart of mine—there are some things time hasn’t changed.
I’m still your son.
I still remember some of the things you taught me. I still hear your voices sometimes. And every once in a while something happens—something funny, something aggravating, something wonderful—and I catch myself thinking:
I wish Mom and Dad were here. I’d love to tell them about this.
Maybe, in some way, you are.
And maybe you already know.
But I wanted to tell you anyway.
Love,
Zach
