For 18 years, my son received a mysterious envelope every birthday—when he finally opened the last one, he discovered who had been sending them all along

postcard.

Then the same thing happened the following year. Another plain envelope. Another simple birthday card. Another small bill tucked inside.

By the third year, Adrian had turned it into a tradition.

“Check the mailbox, Mom.”

“It is seven in the morning,” I told him.

“What if they came early?”

“Mail is not magic.”

He grinned.continue reading …