This is a replay in honor of my brother's birthday.
On July 20, 1969, Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. My family has just about every souvenir you can imagine from this event, because while Armstrong was making one small step for man, my brother was being born.
My brother would have been 43 years old today. Instead, he died nine years ago in tragic circumstances.
When we were kids, since I was the older one, it was my duty to torture my brother and his duty to continue idolizing me, regardless. So I thought I'd take this moment to clear up a couple of things, and I hope he's paying attention.
Bruce: When I said circus clowns left you on our doorstep, I wasn't being entirely honest. In truth, when they brought you home from the hospital, I was sure that you were a devious character set on removing me from the household, and that if I could only catch you I'd prove that you were really a cigar-chomping midget con-man disguised in a diaper. But year after year, you pretended to like me and to mean me no harm. What was that about? It was a clever ruse. How long, I continued to wonder, before your true goals would be unveiled?
When I was ten and convinced you that we should run away from home, we wrapped some important items in a bandanna tied to a broomstick (how I'd seen it done on TV). You were perfectly willing to come with me, but only to the end of the driveway. Why couldn't I convince you that the end of the driveway wasn't far enough?
As it is, I wish you had stayed around a little longer and closer to home.
So, this is my birthday wish for you: I imagine you're on the moon, since it might very well have been the first place you saw when you were born; there it was on the TV in the delivery room. But wherever you are, I hope the Redskins are always winning, there are no stinging insects, they always play heavy metal music, and you've become a master shredder.
Love, your big sis and biggest fan.