Brother’s Birthday, Old Story
Updated: Jan 28, 2022
My younger brother, the baby of the family turned fifty-five this week. I don’t want to say mom treated him special his whole life, but it goes without saying. No one was allowed to pick on mom’s baby except her. This meant whenever he complained to mom about his older brothers, we got yelled at for our actions, real or not. This protective quarantine over her youngest ranked with the Secret Service for the President and lasted well into adulthood.
My older brother turned forty twenty-seven years ago and I turned 40 twenty-two years ago. My mischief mother sent black roses to us on this milestone birthday. (A year older than her announced age.) However, when my baby brother approached the ripe old age of forty, mom called me to warn me about my brother’s sensitivity regarding his age and asked me for kindness in dealing with the subject. Specifically, I was not to put pink flamingos in his yard, make jokes about his age, and he wouldn’t receive black roses for his fortieth birthday.
There are many more stories about our mother’s over-protection of her baby. Not sure if there is enough to make a book, but maybe if I pooled other stories from other older siblings, it could make for one funny book about the baby of the family. Will you please leave your story surrounding the baby of you family, feel free to post them.
Did I mention, my dog is a Karen? This is a Karen conundrum story. Our four-legged Karen likes to follow my daughter around while she eats. My daughter “accidentally” drops a piece of whatever she eats to spoil her dog. It is a game they play where Ginger stares with sad eyes and my daughter gives in by having a portion fall to the ground.
Equally high on Ginger’s list of Karen priorities is barking at the Prime truck. Many hours are spent searching out the window for it and when it is sleepy time, there is one ear up to hear the distinct rumble of the truck. When discovering said truck in the neighborhood, she will bark for a good minute after the vapors of the exhaust leave our street.
Karen’s conundrum: the other day my daughter wonders around eating a slice of toast. Ginger follows her with a patented sorrowful expression. Then the Prime truck stops across the street with enough noise to tweak Karen’s ear. This causes her to enter into bark mode but my daughter still has toast. How does a dog deal with two of her favorite joys in life? She jumps to the front window for a quick bark and a second later back to my daughter with a melancholy demeanor. Repeated trips between the two emotions continue for a good two minutes before the last of the toast and Prime truck disappear. Now she is mad at us for laughing at her.
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