Once upon a time in a far off land called Washington, there was a little boy. He was a prince, beloved of his family, especially his seven astonishingly beautiful fair sisters. He was tall and dark, and moderately good looking in a leaning towards handsome way. He was kind to animals and loved to read, especially long and convoluted books which may or may not have involved elves and fairies and such. He had a wondrous gift with plants and spent many an afternoon in his greenhouse planting and potting and repotting as needed. Indeed his sisters often wondered if he perhaps had installed a large screen television and a gaming system in the greenhouse, so long were his hours therein.
While in his youth this boy shared a room with his younger brother(s), a perfectly nice room which he proceeded to booby trap, to the dismay of all who entered. He would bring whole jars of peaches and eat them within the room, and leave the mason jars scattered throughout. Sometimes it was a land mine you kicked as you teetered by and sometimes it would be a stink bomb of epic proportion.
This prince grew up to be a man who was known throughout the land as a quietly stubborn individual, who did things in his own time and in his own way. He was not particularly interested in what others thought, but rather lived life in his own way and on his own terms.To this day he is still beloved of his family, especially his nieces and nephews who love his ever witty sayings such as “What’s up, chicken butt”, and “Tickle tickle cut the pickle”.
I sat down with him this week and here is a bit of our conversation:
So, how did you survive having seven sisters? I remember spending a lot of time holed up in my bedroom, ignoring them as much as possible. I mean, sure it was fun much of the time, but sometimes I just had to slowly back away and let them fight it out among themselves. It was every man for himself.
What was it like being a boy among all the girls? I thought it was normal, and didn’t know any different. Even when it got wild and crazy it was still fun. I liked growing up in a large family, and even today I know that no matter what happens my family is there to support me. Many people don’t have that luxury.
What is the worst thing about having sisters? They are emotional. When my sisters were younger they fought hard and the claws came out. And they hold grudges! One year I had to drive them all to school, and they had the gall to complain because we were tardy a time or two (note: 28 times one semester). Just because I tried to brighten their day and give them a scenic tour of town and the surrounding neighborhoods. Where is the gratitude?
Who was your favorite sister? No comment! Umm, really, I can’t choose. Please, don’t ask me again.
Gotta run. See ya later, Alligator. In a while, Crocodile.