Dear Marko or should I say Dear #235735 A23,

Congratulations. Mazel tov. Today is that day that will be considered the first day of the rest of your life. Everything will change. First, you will grow a beard. Following the well groomed face carpet, you'll begin a newfound affinity for turtles and first edition mid century erotic novels. Then, naturally, you'll become flagellant and take cold showers in the wee of the night with your turtles. It's all part of growing up.
You are now a proud member of the American work force. A force to be reckoned with, in it's heyday anyway. And more importantly you're part of a gang, a gang of medical accountants. I strongly belief, with every fiber of my loins, one day HBO will make a movie a la Band of Brothers but titled Band of Accountants or perchance Tax deductions and Receivables.
You were always a judicious counter. There was a twinkle in your eye and a giggle/moan in your lips every time you counted. I knew then and I am proud of you now. You've always loved to count and account. You fucking love that shit. And I love that you love that shit.
Some will make the case your nature (of the Jap gene) made you predisposed to being an accountant. While it is a valid point, we must not disregard nurture. I remember your calculator. Old BetsytronT1400. I remember the day in middle school when BetsytronT1400 ran out of batteries and you wept as it laid in your hands in the cafeteria (you were so happy when you learned she was solar powered). Although, BetsytronT1400 is no longer with us, I belief she is in a better place and she'll be with you whenever you count.