Happy Birthday, Brother

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Ahh, the wheelbarrow race.

Jim tipped me over as John and Jeff raced to the finish line.

The laughter was tremendous.

Mom and Dad standing there cheering us on.

Also, the photo of Jeff as a tribesman.

He skipped through that party, slapping his own ass to Y-M-C-A over the loudspeaker as a couple of hundred stunned party-goers laughed.

I had tears rolling down my face.

It was one of the funniest things I'd ever seen.


The askew glasses on his face at his own wedding.


More from that Halloween party.


Our trip to Florida.

Day after day of laughter.

Twenty years ago OJ was in his Bronco.

We were together at my college roommates home.

Me, Jeff and Pops.

Yankees over O's.

A clean sweep.

The entire week went great.

Except for the fact that we were nearly asked to leave my roommates home because our aim hadn't been true when using their bathroom.

"You're the one who pissed on the floor," Jeff had scolded me.

Do you know why he knew that?

Because he had walked by the bathroom, flung open the door, and slapped my ass as I took aim.

Then he had laughed, and laughed and laughed.

Happy Birthday.

Love you, miss you, sucks without you.

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