I'm sorry you couldn't join me for lunch this week on your birthday at the Lost Dog Cafe, oldest son Jimmy. I haven't seen nor heard from you since Peyton Manning won the Super Bowl.
You had no part in your Mother's divorce from me, being a child at the time. Western style domestic law is unbelievable, perhaps it'll come full circle and engulf you too in the future. (What goes around comes around.)
I hope not. I love you and miss you, and want to be a part of your life.
James B. Rogers, my address is the same as the house where you grew up in, and my number is 202-326-3274. You're a spittin' image of a Lamberton, actually.
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