Episodes
August 15, 1971: Rain Showers, Ray Charles, and Counting Down to Seve…
Send us a text It’s August 15, 1971 — just one week before my parents’ first wedding anniversary. My mom is still in Miami, moving between friends’ houses, going to parties, and enjoying summer nights. She’s singing “Rain, rain, go away” like she used to when I was a kid — and casually noting that …
August 14, 1971: The Countdown to Our Day
Send us a text From Vietnam, my dad counts down the days until his R&R in Hawaii with my mom — just 15 to 18 left. He gives her careful instructions for meeting him at the airport, worries about her overexerting herself, and calls her “beautifully preggy.” This letter overflows with love, antic…
August 14, 1971: From Good Morning Kisses to Pregnant Virgin Promises
Send us a text On this day in 1971, my mom wrote my dad twice from San Antonio — once in the morning with her travel details for their Hawaii R&R, and again later with an intimate, deeply personal letter about longing, love, and what this long separation has meant for her. From a warm good morn…
August 13, 1971: Miami Sun, Love Letters, and Counting Down to Hawaii
Send us a text On Friday the 13th, with just 26 days until their R&R in Hawaii, my parents exchanged two letters filled with humor, longing, and the small details that made their love story so vivid. My mom, writing from Miami, shares her days with Teri, Judy, and Bill Cobbs — shopping trips, a…
August 12, 1971: Rearranging the Room, Nights Out in Miami, and Count…
Send us a text It’s August 12, 1971, and my parents are writing from opposite sides of the world — my dad in Vietnam, my mom in Miami. In his letter, my dad tells her about rearranging his room, hanging her poster at the foot of his bed, and feeling the deep ache of homesickness after a night of dr…
August 11, 1971: A Day in Two Voices
Send us a text It’s August 11, 1971. My parents are 8,000 miles apart — my dad in Vietnam, my mom in Miami — but they’re both writing to each other on the same day. These letters capture the same heartbeat from two different worlds: his longing to talk to her, hers to feel him near. You can hear th…
August 10, 1971: Miami Friends, Married Life, and Counting the Days
Send us a text In Miami, my mom is surrounded by friends, sun, and letters from my dad — the kind of letters she says are the real turn-on. She’s counting the days until their R&R in September and reflecting on how life feels quieter now that she’s happily married. This is the other half of the…
August 10, 1971: Barbed Wire, Minefields, and Miami Sunshine
Send us a text My dad writes from Vietnam with two of my mom’s letters in hand, a little teasing about R&R, and the first real picture of where he’s been living for months — a small Air Force compound surrounded by barbed wire, electric lights, and minefields. Meanwhile, my mom’s in Miami, surr…
August 9, 1971: Halfway to Holding You
Send us a text In Miami, my mom writes to my dad in Vietnam about their baby — already kicking, already loved — as she reaches 18 weeks of pregnancy. She reflects on their growing family, the joy of feeling life inside her, and the deep love she has for both her husband and the child they’re waitin…
August 9, 1971: Counting the Days to Hawaii and Forever
Send us a text From Vietnam, my dad writes to my mom in Miami about their upcoming R&R in Hawaii, their plans for saving money, and the happiness he feels looking back on their first year of marriage. In a short follow-up note, he sends her the orders she’ll need for their trip — with a promise…
August 8, 1971: I Love You, Sarah Jane
Send us a text They’re only one month away from seeing each other again — for the first time since April. And for the first time, my dad will see my mom pregnant. Today’s letter is pure tenderness. He says it outright: “I never knew that love could be so beautiful.” It’s one of many moments where y…
August 8, 1971: You’re My Steak, I’m Your Potato
Send us a text Sarah writes from Biscayne Bay, sun-kissed and missing her man. She’s four months pregnant, floating through the Miami breeze, and dreaming of Dick. In this letter, she says it all — with passion, laughter, and...
August 7, 1971: Toast, Sun, and a Breeze off Biscayne Bay
Send us a text My mom writes from Miami on a warm August Saturday, resting, laughing, and soaking up the sun. She’s staying right on Biscayne Bay — a place I know well — and in this letter, we see how alive and supported she was during her pregnancy. She spends the day poolside with friends, goes t…
August 7, 1971: Fried Fish, Music Tapes, and Counting Down to the 22nd
Send us a text My dad writes from Vietnam after a long 24-hour alert shift. Nothing major happens, but he still manages to turn the day into something sweet. He eats fried fish and onion rings, works on music tapes for my mom, and mentions a call he’s hoping to make on August 22 — their anniversary…
August 6, 1971: Dolphins Tickets, Biscayne Bay, and the Birth of a Dr…
Send us a text Sarah writes from Miami in the middle of what feels like a real vacation — sun, friends, card games, and even tickets to see the Dolphins play. But tucked inside this seemingly lighthearted letter is something big: a glimpse of where it all began with Bill Cobbs. A view of Biscayne B…
August 5, 1971: Pie’s Champagne Confession
Send us a text It’s Dick’s day off in Vietnam, and Sarah’s living it up in Miami. What starts as a tender note turns hilarious — fast. There’s a little weather talk, some thoughts on marijuana, and then… Pie’s now-legendary line about drinking champagne in places champagne doesn’t usually go. My da…
August 5, 1971: Hot Dogs, Housing Loans, and a 10½ Inch Legacy
Send us a text My mom writes from Miami on August 5, 1971. She’s craving a hotdog, dodging a sailing invite while 4½ months pregnant, and accidentally capturing the origin story of my dad’s future career — and our family’s bar. This letter is where I first learn that Dick would go on to work for Bi…
August 4, 1971: Even in a Crowd, I’m Lonely Without You
Send us a text My mom writes from Miami — recounting Brandy Alexanders, receipts, outfits, poolside conversations, and dinner with old friends. But beneath the swirl of it all, she’s aching for my dad. This letter reminds me how much she could love being around people… and still feel completely alo…
August 4, 1971: Hello Pretty Wife of Mine
Send us a text My dad writes from Vietnam on a slow alert day, just counting down the days until he can hold my mom again — 36 to go. He talks about getting some sun, watching baseball, grooving to her letter, and imagining their hotel room in Hawaii. He also checks in on “the wittle one,” jokes ab…
August 3, 1971: RED Letter News
Send us a text Sarah writes from Miami with news that changes everything: for the first time, she feels the baby move. It’s a quiet, private milestone — but she captures it with joy, humor, and wonder. She’s feeling good, proud of her pregnant body, and more connected than ever to the life growing …
August 3, 1971: You, Me, and a Waterbed
Send us a text My dad writes from Vietnam after getting one of my mom’s letters in Miami. He jokes about her sleeping on a waterbed, talks through his slow day at the hooch, and shares a tender moment imagining the baby she’s carrying — me. What we’re really seeing in these letters is a pregnancy j…
August 2, 1971: My Wittle Chickie and the Dream of Miami
Send us a text In this letter from August 2, 1971, Sarah writes to Dick from Miami — not just soaking up the sun but dreaming of the life they’ll build together in this very place. She passes along a touching letter from her grandmother Pearl and gently asks Dick to write her — just one page. It’s …
August 2, 1971: A Room at the Hilton and the Sound of Tina Turner
Send us a text Dick writes not one but two letters to Sarah on August 2, 1971 — one full of music, excitement, and planning for their R&R in Hawaii, and the other a quiet love note before bed. He books them a room at the Hilton in Waikiki by mail, tapes Jackson 5, Tina Turner, and Diana Ross on…
August 1, 1971: Sunshine, G&Ts, and a Quarter in the Bank
Send us a text Sarah’s in Miami, and this Sunday letter to Dick is full of rhythm and joy. She’s playing cards, reconnecting with old friends, eating steak, and slowly feeling more like herself again. The mood is lighter, the pace is easy, and there’s even a little teasing at the end — a promise of…