Small House of Everything

Small House of Everything

Thursday, January 4, 2018


Today my brother takes one further step toward decrepitude.

Although he is far less handsome, far less talented, and far less macho than I am, I have never tried to rub it in, poor sod.

There has always been a mystery surrounding his birth.  Growing up, I would hear vague stories about an isolated laboratory, a lightning storm, some sort of a hunchback (presumably the nurse), and some nonsense about stolen body parts.  When he first began school, my parents would attach a note to his jacket:  "My name is Kenny.  If I am lost, don't bother."  His high school yearbook notes that he was "voted most likely to be a pod person."

After high school, he attended M.I.T. and became officially smart.  He knows math, computers, and how to play the guitar.  When he sings, the neighbors seldom complain.  He was lucky enough to marry the wonderful Carmen.  They have two beautiful daughters of whom anyone would be proud, the lovely Lizzie and the equally lovely Julie.  For some reason, he likes banjo jokes and is fixated on goats.  At a restaurant, he always checks the dessert menu first so he'll know how much food to order.  He is a firm believer in at least one pie per person at mealtimes.

Overall, he is a pretty good guy and I have no problem bragging that he is my brother.

I hope he has a fantastic day and a fantastic year.  He deserves it.

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