(more vacation posts later, when I have time to prepare the pics)
This is a true story of laziness, karma, and just basic detective work, told in two parts. Similar in ways to Arlo Guthrie’s presumably fictional song, “Alice’s Restaurant,” (but not until the second part), this one’s all true. Even the part where people are lying.
My brother Charles and I never really knew just how pissed Dad was. For all we knew, maybe he laughed about it where we couldn’t see him.
Despite the many pleasures of growing up in the country — fresh air, room to roam, eye-popping night skies — a few things about living way out could be considered drawbacks. I couldn’t just run next door, or even down the street, to rustle up a few kids for general good times. The streets on either side of ours were a couple miles across hilly fields, or a few miles through dense woods, respectively, and some featured vicious dogs and barbed-wire fences. They were just as likely as our street to feature children my age, but the Great Wall of China might as well have stood between us.
For that reason, Charles and I spent a lot more time together than other siblings I knew. A mere two years my senior, he no doubt sometimes felt like ditching the little kid for something more exciting. And, more times than he might know, I didn’t care to do what he was doing, but went along for the ride. In fact, my brother might be solely responsible for what physical coordination I have.
Then again, he may have distracted me just enough to keep me from becoming the slightly younger, more handsome Bill Gates. Or the slightly younger, geekier Steve Jobs. We’ll never know.
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