'Letters From Home' (c) John Michael Montgomery
Jimmy Neutron (c) Paramount Pictures and Viacom International
Lyrics provided courtesy of anysonglyricsdotcom
I edited the lyrics a bit, simply because Jimmy and his parents ain't Southern. So there!
This is my first song-fic. And the reason I wrote it is because I couldn't get the song out of my head, and then I started thinking about Jimmy, and what if he were 18 when the war started, and what if he enlisted...so here you go!
Enjoy, and don't forget to R&R!
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My Dear Son, it is almost June,
I hope this letter catches up to you, and finds you well.
Its been dry but they're calling for rain,
And everything's the same old same in Retroville.
Judy Neutron studied what she'd written so far. She glanced over at Hugh, who had been polishing his prized ducks. He looked up at her, his brown eyes clouding for a moment. He looked away, back at the duck he currently polished.
Judy sighed. Ever since Jimmy' d been sent overseas, her husband had refused to mention either him or the war. She turned back to her writing. Tapping the pen against her cheek, she decided what else to say.
Your stubborn old Daddy hasn't said too much,
But I'm sure you know he sends his love,
And she goes on,
In a letter from home.
At the sound of running feet, Jimmy looked up. His long time friend, Sheen Esteves, hurried to him with a package in hand. "Hey, Jimmy! Your mom sent you something!" he called excitedly. Jimmy grinned at his friend's activeness. His mother always sent her world famous Lemon Smiley Face Cookies, and everyone -even the tough, masculine Sergeant Griff- enjoyed them.
Sheen panted, handing over the box. "Oh, yeah, and here's a letter," he added, tossing an envelope toward his friend.
Jimmy's eyes lit up. The cookies were good...but he enjoyed the letters best. He ripped open the envelope, pulling out the note. Absently reaching for a cookie, he read.
I hold it up and show my buddies,
Like we aren't scared and our boots aren't muddy, and they all laugh,
Like there's something funny ' bout the way I talk,
When I say: "Mama sends her best y'all."
Jimmy smiled softly to himself. He could almost see his mother sitting at her desk, patiently spelling out each letter. He folded the letter carefully, just the way his mother did.
I fold it up and put it in my shirt,
Pick up my gun and get back to work.
And it keeps me driving me on,
Waiting on letters from home.
Cindy turned over, staring out the window at the big, bright moon. Much as she tried, she knew it was useless to try to sleep. She sat up against the headboard. After staying there for a few minutes, she heaved a weary sigh and shoved herself off the bed. She trudged down the hallway to her study. Pulling a paper out of the printer, she settled into a chair, reached for a pen, and started writing.
My Dearest Love, its almost dawn.
I've been lying here all night long wondering where you might be.
I saw your Mama and I showed her the ring.
Man on the television said something so I couldn't sleep.
But I'll be all right, I'm just missing you.
And this is me kissing you:
X's and O's,
In a letter from home.
Jimmy smiled at the familiar writing. Sitting across from him, Sheen reached and snatched the letter out of his hands. Jimmy scrambled to get it back, but his heavy gear weighed him down. "Sheen!"
Sheen smirked at the personal letter. "Honey?" he asked teasingly. Beside him, Private Long, an acquaintance of both friends, snickered loudly. He leaned over Sheen's shoulder to read. "My dearest love?" he chortled.
Jimmy's face turned bright red. He leaned over and grabbed the letter back.
I hold it up and show my buddies,
Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy, and they all laugh,
'Cause she calls me "Honey", but they take it hard,
'Cause I don't read the good parts.
I fold it up an' put it in my shirt,
Pick up my gun an' get back to work.
And it keeps me driving me on,
Waiting on letters from home.
Hugh sighed as he sat down to his wife's desk. Judy had gone to the store, and wouldn't be back for an hour, so she wouldn't catch him doing exactly what he'd said he would never do.
He stared at the blank piece of paper, unsure of what to write. After a while, he sighed in resignation and just wrote what he thought.
Dear Son, I know I haven't written,
But sitting here tonight, alone in the kitchen, it occurs to me,
I might not have said, so I'll say it now:
Son, you make me proud.
Jimmy tried to blink his tears away. His father's words meant so much to him, considering how opposed he was to the war, and thus, to him. But he was...proud of him.
The soldier pulled out a drawing his father had included. He'd drawn it years before, when he was only 4. It was of him, his father, and one of his father's favorite ducks. And scrawled across the top in crayon, with painstaking carefulness, was the words, ' I love yoo, Daddy'.
He could hold them back no longer. His tears overflowed.
Like we aren't scared and our boots aren't muddy, but no one laughs,
' Cause there isn't anything funny when a soldier cries.
And I just wipe my eyes.
I fold it up and put it in my shirt,
Pick up my gun and get back to work.
And it keeps me driving me on,
Waiting on letters from home.
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I hope you like it! And R&R, iffen you don't mind!