My brother Andrew turned eighteen years of age yesterday. Though he has long abandoned his Superman cape and Speedo swimsuits, there still survives within him an expectant heroism and the ethereal sensation of dreams yet unfulfilled. Andrew has always been the miracle child, in that his advent miraculously saved my father from affixation by estrogen at the hands of four Kulp women. Apparently, Andrew’s craggy, old man infancy belied his eventual comely appearance and his docile demeanor made him beguilingly impervious to our (emasculating) Cabbage Patch doll's dress outfitting of him. Though, much to my chagrin, Andrew has always refused to ascribe in loco parentis authority to my senior status (of almost a decade). Nevertheless, my parents have done (yet another) stellar job with this “unexpected miracle.” And for the record, I fully expect Andrew to assume the Phillies’ pitcher’s mound one day...and I’ll say I knew him when he sang Sunday school songs on our front lawn, wearing nothing but a Speedo and a smile. Happy Birthday Andrew. We love you (and expect a share in your celebrity fortune)!
1 comment:
You know, it's funny... those shorts your dad is wearing are the same ones my dad is wearing in the lawn moving photos with Dave. Only difference is that my dad was wearing those 70's shorts in 1984... apparently your dad was still wearing them in 1993. Nice. Of course, that's one of the three Kulp virtues right? Frugality...
Post a Comment