Once We Were Fat and Happy
Today is my brother Dylan’s birthday, he’s 20 years old now which means I’ll be 33 this year but this doesn’t make me feel old at all. It does make me wonder where the last twenty years went. Twenty years ago I was 12 going on 13 and my favorite things in life were The Mets, Nintendo, and watching the squiggly lines on the adult channels in the hopes that I could see boobs. 1987 was a good year, in fact as far as family goes it may have been the best year we ever had. Let’s crank up the way back machine for a minute and I’ll explain why.
1987 was a big year for my mother because 13 years after having children she suddenly developed an interest in parenting, I guess being newly remarried with another baby on the way makes a woman notice she has three other kids and start to feed them. If you ask my sister about 1987 she’ll call it, The Year We Had Food. We also moved from the ghetto part of town to one of the nicer sections; we could tell it was nice because residents only shot off fireworks on the 4th of July and we didn’t have to pause our conversations every 15 minutes when the train passed. Previously we only had these luxuries on the weekends when we stayed with our father. As an added bonus we even went to the dentist…it was like being in a real family 7 days a week.
So, in April of 1987 Dylan showed up, things were on the upswing for us all, the food kept coming and all was good at home.
Did it last? If you said no, you win!
By 1989 it was a cramped apartment in a lousy neighborhood again but now there were 5 kids (eventually there would be six). Looking back at things I think that in the fall of 1988 we should have disbanded and joined other families, quit on top. Of course we didn’t disband but we realize that mom was doing her best and we all survived the experience, the point was supposed to be my brother’s birthday, I guess I got sidetracked. Today marks twenty years of awesome for the kid, except for his spelling which is deplorable. Happy Birthday!