Shortly after we got settled in Michigan, my little brother was born. My mom will tell you I used to pray every night for God to send me a baby brother, and I somehow know I loved him the instant he was born. He became my instant ally, my tormentor, my prisoner, my child, my best friend and protector...
After graduating from high school, my brother got married. To a vegetarian Mennonite. Honest to God. A vegetarian. We immediately labeled her "weird" (sorry, Amanda). What does she eat, we asked ourselves? How does she get enough protein? Is she really just a picky eater? Does she actually have some kind of eating disorder? Well, my parents consoled each other, at least she's a nice conservative Christian. No one is perfect. My parents made sure to have a boring green salad at family events to keep the peace.
My brother, like the family men before him, joined the military his senior year of high school. After his wedding, he was stationed in California, the modern day Sodom & Gommorah. Forget worrying about training exercises and the impending war...my parents prayed for his soul and his safety in this den of liberals and degenerates. They probably breathed a sigh of relief when he got his orders to deploy to the Middle East (okay, even I realize I'm taking it a little too far here. Brother, mom and dad love you. You know I love you, right?). My mother decided she wanted to see him before he lefty dad told her to go alone. He said he'd never set foot in that state. She started making plans to go alone. He caved and accompanied her. After a rocky start (Nick and Amanda took my parents out to dinner at a sushi restaurant knowing what you've learned about them so fat, do they strike you as "sushi" kind if people?), they discovered wine country, and so the walls began to crumble. They returned home with a new appreciation for California, with it's natural beauty and Trader Joe's.
No comments:
Post a Comment