Tuesday, May 31, 2011
It's all coming back to me now: traveling packed between bigger brothers. The joy of being given nuggies, tickled into submission, wrapped in a foul-smelling sleeping bag and being told to eat bugs at rest stops.
The happy-go-lucky life of growing up with big brothers: Indian burns, wedgies, being told to touch my tongue to metal fence posts in winter, and putting on rubber boots filled with pudding. It was a time when being babysat meant long, leisurely hours locked in the bedroom closet (called a "fort").
My brothers used to tell me I came from either the bread man (who's name was Duffy), or from the milkman (who's name was Keith). I knew better, even at that age. Duffy was short, smelled of yeast and had a mass of dark hair on his arms and Keith was portly with very large feet and no chin. No similarities there.
I torture them to this day by constantly reminding them that I am their brother. And I'm much younger than they are. And better looking. Ah, time. The great equalizer.
Posted by Rand MacIvor at 7:33 AM