Happy Birthday to My Brother John
My brother John is 51 years old today.
Pretty weird to write that because he was the guy I hung around with most back when we were two and three.
We were always together, then, of course, and while 'work to do and bills to pay' gets in the way...it's more about the time going quickly.
That's what blows my mind about writing out the simple fact that he's 51 years old today.
Seems fitting that we come up with a John story, right?
Two things about my older brother:
1). He's always been waaaaayyyy stronger than me.
Which wouldn't be so disconcerting if it weren't for fact #2.
2). He's always been waaaaayyyy faster than me.
So, cut to a time when I was about 18 years old.
John had been in the basement of my parents' home doing work on a project...not sure what it was
...I didn't stick around to find out.
Unbeknownst to me John had been struggling to finish said project because the switch that controlled the lights to the basement was located at the top of the stairs and my younger brother, Jeff (of course), had been playing a bit of a game with John.
He'd shut off the switch.
John would yell.
The switch would come on.
Except, also unbeknownst to me...Jeff got bored with the prank and quit.
I entered the house.
Saw the lights were on...switched them off..and didn't turn them back on.
"WHO JUST TURNED OUT THE LIGHTS?" John screamed.
"I did!" I said...perhaps a bit too forcefully because he came charging up the stairs.
I wasn't sticking around to plead my innocence.
I ran from the house.
Uh.
He runs faster.
Out through the back yard I turned to gauge my problem...
...he was closing fast.
I ducked behind the garage...John was telling me what he was going to do to my pretty face when he caught me...and then...and then...I saw it.
Dad had a scaffold section that was partially erected in the back yard...as I ran past...with John just mere feet from me...I yanked on the scaffold section.
I kept running.
I braced for the tackle...the wild thumping...the begging for mercy...
...And nothing happened.
I turned.
John was on the ground.
Beneath the scaffold.
"You better run to Buffalo!" He yelled.
I heard laughter in his voice.
I edged my way back towards him.
He was laughing.
"You ass%&*E! You hit me in the back with it."
I explained that I'd only turned the light off once.
"JEFF!" We both said.
But he still punched me once, in the left arm, for good measure.
That was 32 years ago.
I just got all the feeling back.
Happy Birthday, bro.
We love you.
Pretty weird to write that because he was the guy I hung around with most back when we were two and three.
We were always together, then, of course, and while 'work to do and bills to pay' gets in the way...it's more about the time going quickly.
That's what blows my mind about writing out the simple fact that he's 51 years old today.
Seems fitting that we come up with a John story, right?
Two things about my older brother:
1). He's always been waaaaayyyy stronger than me.
Which wouldn't be so disconcerting if it weren't for fact #2.
2). He's always been waaaaayyyy faster than me.
So, cut to a time when I was about 18 years old.
John had been in the basement of my parents' home doing work on a project...not sure what it was
...I didn't stick around to find out.
Unbeknownst to me John had been struggling to finish said project because the switch that controlled the lights to the basement was located at the top of the stairs and my younger brother, Jeff (of course), had been playing a bit of a game with John.
He'd shut off the switch.
John would yell.
The switch would come on.
Except, also unbeknownst to me...Jeff got bored with the prank and quit.
I entered the house.
Saw the lights were on...switched them off..and didn't turn them back on.
"WHO JUST TURNED OUT THE LIGHTS?" John screamed.
"I did!" I said...perhaps a bit too forcefully because he came charging up the stairs.
I wasn't sticking around to plead my innocence.
I ran from the house.
Uh.
He runs faster.
Out through the back yard I turned to gauge my problem...
...he was closing fast.
I ducked behind the garage...John was telling me what he was going to do to my pretty face when he caught me...and then...and then...I saw it.
Dad had a scaffold section that was partially erected in the back yard...as I ran past...with John just mere feet from me...I yanked on the scaffold section.
I kept running.
I braced for the tackle...the wild thumping...the begging for mercy...
...And nothing happened.
I turned.
John was on the ground.
Beneath the scaffold.
"You better run to Buffalo!" He yelled.
I heard laughter in his voice.
I edged my way back towards him.
He was laughing.
"You ass%&*E! You hit me in the back with it."
I explained that I'd only turned the light off once.
"JEFF!" We both said.
But he still punched me once, in the left arm, for good measure.
That was 32 years ago.
I just got all the feeling back.
Happy Birthday, bro.
We love you.
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