My own two boys, grown men now, used to call me at work to inform me,
"He won't stop touching my stuff!" To which I would reply, "You're only
supposed to call me at work if it's an emergency. Is this an emergency?!?"
The answer would be, "Yes ... um, no..." This happened daily.
My own and only dear brother, ten years my junior, was a model of
perfect behavior. I understood the need for him to accompany me often, and
delighted in it. To have him burst through the door of my bedroom and
announce "Here I AM!" filled me with glee. Any time he broke one of my
favorite things, I understood that these things can happen, and any time I
was scolded for not watching him more closely when he broke something, I
truly strove to be more attentive. His penchant for battle sound effects,
which he practiced to perfection as we sat in the back of Dad's Pinto on
road trips, kept me entertained on many a journey. Nothing amused me more
than to see the curiosities this inquisitive child would collect, as I
emptied the pockets of his jeans to do laundry. Did you know that the
bones of toads smell very, very bad; and that the stench won't leave your
hands for hours once you've touched them?
Now he is a father on his own, and has a delightfully brilliant and
inquisitive son who has inherited many of his dad's character traits;
including, to my utter delight, his father's tenacity. They say what goes
around comes around. :) Despite having often being my victim .. er,
brother... he has grown to be a wonderful man, and I still find joy in his
company. Next to my husband, my brother is my very best friend.
Did I leave anything out, Bran? ;)
Medb
From: "deb kerr" <dkmurphy@advant.net>
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Received on Fri Oct 10 08:31:35 2003
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