My Christmas Letter

Now for many of you this sounds silly. Whistling, for most people, is as natural as fucking. But imagine trying to perform without the natural endowments that make such an act easy. That is right. I was born with no lips. Whistling with no lips is a sad affair. It comes out more as a “ttthhhhhh” sound. Not something that would get a dog’s attention, let alone the favors of a woman impressed by a well timed cat call. But by God I was going to do it. I was determined. No more humming along to the Whistle Song. No more enduring the private mockery of Guns N Roses’, “Patience.”

Even as a child the happy whistling of the Seven Dwarves going to work was like an ice pick in my heart. Their whistling while they worked filled me with a cold dread, knowing that I would never be able to participate in such carefree fun while I work. Instead, I would forever be picking and shoveling in a coal mine, morose, cold and scared. Their happy whistling, their luck with the ladies, their entire carefree existence would be impossible for me to ever replicate. Even as a child, I realized that life for me would never be complete until I could whistle.

But I never did anything about it. Years passed and I accepted my lot in life. I dragged along from year to year, trying to make a life, but never really feeling satisfied. But January 2006, I decided this year would be different. I was going to change my lot in life. I was going to make something of myself. I was going to become fulfilled and complete. By God I Would Whistle!

But how? How can someone with no lips whistle? “No way, kid!” everyone told me. I talked to my friends, “Impossible!” I talked to my family, “Are you daft, boy? You can’t whistle!” I talked to the minister and his wives, “You can’t whistle if you ain’t got no lips, son.” I even called the Pope, “God calls on some people to suffer. You have been so called. Accept your fate.”

They were wrong. I knew it in my heart. They were all wrong. I would show them. I just knew I would.