When we’re together, my younger brother wastes no time telling anyone new that I made him weird.
He is seven years younger than me, and as I took him on as my own personal ward throughout his early childhood, I taught him the art of the knock-knock joke, the thrill of yelling swear words into a room full of adults, and the beauty of dressing up like an elf, a dog, a girl, AND Michael Jackson.
The guy probably has the best sense of humor of anyone I know.
As we grew up and I moved out, I could clearly see the seeds of random weirdness sprout and bloom within his personality, and recall telling him in all sincerity during my and then his own Beastie Boys-obsession, that I would name a future male child “Mike D” and train him to respond “Aww, yeah, that’s ME” anytime he was called by name.
Check it at :28-:31 if you don't want to listen to the whole thing.
Then let's talk about WHY a person wouldn't want to listen to the whole thing.
Are they beyond help?
I don’t think my brother will ever forgive me for not following through on that promise.
I never planned on being weird, never thought that my weirdness would translate in the real world to humor or happiness or anything positive at all. I thought it would mark me as a crazy person, unable to form real relationships and bonds with other, more “normal” people who don’t hang onto crazy song lyrics even well past their period of relevance.
I never thought my weirdness would stick to my brother, hurl me through some genuinely bizarro experiences in my twenties, ultimately attract my straight-as-an-arrow and woefully non-weird husband, and then affix itself to our two children.
But they've lived their entire lives being raised by me - how did I think anything else would happen?
This photo was taken after my son’s very last baseball game of the summer, well after a decent dinner time, at an old new favorite bar that my husband and I like to frequent due to their good, cheap food and drinks. Our children, who have learned to love wings and crab fries and Shirley Temples like every good bar patron’s children should, finished their meals and obligingly posed for the camera.
Hey, kids, it's officially summer. Smile.
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