My Brother

A few weeks ago, I got an e-mail from my “little” brother.  He and his wife would be in Cambridge for a few days and wanted to come by.   I had been asking him to visit for about three years.  He lives in Virginia  and it can be inconvenient.  They came Tuesday afternoon and stayed until 10PM.  We had a very pleasant time.  It was great to see him. 

We talked and talked.  Ann wanted to know what he was like when he was little.    My big brother and I were 12 and 15 when he was a baby and we proceeded to get him in all kinds of trouble.  All in all, he was a pretty good kid and soon learned that driving our mother crazy was lots of fun.  He was also prone to accidents.  Daddy would say, “Are you sure he’s ours?”  This also infuriated mother.  And according to Ann, he still has to watched.

As the evening wore on, I soon realized how much he reminded me of  Daddy–the way he talked, the way he moved his hands and, of course, the way he looked.  He wasn’t quite nine years old when Daddy died and he is like him is so many ways.   I wanted to cry.  It’s amazing, the things that are inherited that I would have ever imagined.  I still miss Daddy.  It’s nice to know that there is a close facsimile.

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