When I was much younger than I am today (ahem), my father and I shared an especially insightful afternoon during which told me the story of my existence. I’m grateful for his having found sobriety and his treating me like an adult even in my 17th year with my facial piercings, unruly hair and excessive teen angst. Had it not been for conversations like this one, much of my history would have gone to the grave with him and/or with my mother.
Mom had Jennifer and Brian in June 1964 and November 1965, respectively. When Mom was pregnant with Brian something happened – a car accident I think – and she had to have a spinal fusion. We joke that her having been anesthetized while carrying him explains a lot – hardy har har, family humor. Following the operation, the doctors told her that in the interest of her health, she shouldn’t have more children.
Five or six years later, she decided to go against that advice; my father none the wiser and we were blessed with Kevin in September of 71. Because of the age gap between the boys, my folks thought it wise to create a playmate for him: I arrived in December of 72.
This weekend a friend called us “Irish twins”. I’m certain I’ve heard the phrase before but never thought of it in terms of Kev and I. I like it. It fits us.
So here we are, a fragment of our youth locked in a photograph. Before puberty and identity and the ten year stretch of not being able to get along.
Life has a way of working things out if you give them enough time, you just have to be careful that you’ve actually got time.
How can you NOT love Kevin in these Larry Bud Melman glasses?