Our Special Relationship

A Family Correspondence. Letter from the Son…

Dear Mom and Dad,

When I stormed out of your house, I was furious. It just didn’t seem fair that you taxed me for my morning tea—especially when it wasn’t even that good. In hindsight, it was probably a blessing. I switched to coffee, which at least wakes me up before my workday rather than lulling me back to sleep.

Of course, it didn’t help that a few years later you burned down my house. It was such a nice, pretty White House, too. Took me ages to rebuild. Did you hear we’ve rebuilt it and we’re adding a ballroom? You should come visit when it’s finished—though please leave the matches at home this time.

Looking back, the events we endured together were not easy. We bled, we argued, we made mistakes—but we also stood shoulder to shoulder when it mattered most. Those sacrifices still ache in our bones, though they’ve done much for the rest of the neighborhood.

Time has a way of softening grudges. At Thanksgiving dinner this year, we raised our glasses to our “special relationship.” We were grateful that we still speak the same language—mostly. I confess, I once worried you might be forced to swap Shakespeare, but thanks to our teamwork, Hamlet still soliloquizes in English.

These days, I have my own house, my own family, and my own bills. You taught me well: I not only charge my kids rent, I’ve introduced them to the fine tradition of “taxation without representation.” They grumble, of course—but I remind them that’s how I was raised.

And yes, I still visit. We bicker, we reminisce, and then we go back to saving the world together—because let’s face it, no one else will do it properly.

Love,

Your sometimes-rebellious but always special descendant,

Reply from Mum & Dad

Dear Child,

We admit, you left home rather dramatically. The tea tantrum was unnecessary—you could have just said you didn’t like the blend. But no, you had to dump it in the harbor and storm out. Typical teenager.

We were disappointed, of course, but we’ve always admired your determination and grit—even if it meant shouting about “liberty” while borrowing our legal system, our language, and—let’s be honest—half of our furniture.

Still, you’ve done rather well for yourself. Coffee seems to agree with you, even if you insist on calling biscuits “cookies” and spelling “colour” without the ‘u.’ (We’re still not over that one.)

Now, about the house. We are truly sorry for setting fire to it. In our defense, we were still rather upset at the time. Call it an overreaction. We’ve regretted it ever since—and we must admit, the new paint job looks smashing. And a ballroom, you say? Splendid! Nothing heals old wounds like a dance floor—though perhaps keep the drapes flame-retardant this time.

We’re proud of how you’ve stepped up when the neighborhood got rough. When certain unpleasant characters came knocking, we were relieved you showed up—even if you arrived fashionably late, as is your habit. Your help kept the whole street from going under.

As for your own family—well, we’re glad you’re teaching your children the same lessons we taught you, even if you’ve put your own spin on them. Charging rent? Taxation without representation? Now you understand what we were trying to do all along.

We may grumble about your music, your movies, and your politics—but the truth is, we’d be lost without you. You may have left the house, but you’ll always be our child. Our very loud, very opinionated, pushy child.

Fondly (and with a stiff upper lip),

Mum & Dad

*Editing assisted by AI. And being an American and not knowing how to think – like a Brit. I let AI give the response from Mum & Dad.