What "Star Wars" means to me.

I don’t think it will be an uncommon occurrence this weekend to see people going apeshit over Star Wars, sharing stories about their own epic light saber battles, or recounting memories about the movie(s).  This won’t be that generic. 

Everyone who knows me knows that I love “Star Wars”.  I don’t keep it a secret. I’m staying home from the office today, partly just to write this and document it before I go see the movie, exactly 24 hours from now.  I have those sort of regular kind of “Star Wars” memories and details running around in my life.  My kid is named Luke.  The runner up name middle name was Harrison (depending on what Ben chose as the first name).  The “family decals” on my rear car window are “Star Wars” characters.  I have a light saber windshield wiper back there, too.  I quote it pretty often.  But then, I have some not so generic, not-so-regular thoughts about “Star Wars”, too.  Things that you might not always think about when you’re making fun of someone dressed up as Princess Leia trying to get out of jury duty.

I will start with my generic story, which is moderately interesting.  I was 6 in 1977.  My sister, Tina, would have been 8 or 9.  We didn’t have a lot of money.  We actually had no money.  Ever.  But occasionally, our parents and their friends would want some adult time, and drop us off at the Merrimon Twin theatre on Saturday mornings to see these “matinee” movies with the other friends’ kids.  Yes, I said “drop us off”.  They would leave us there.  A bunch of kids, all under 10.  ‘Cause you could do that back then.  It couldn’t have cost more than 4 or 5 bucks or something for both of us.  This day was the first time we went to the theatre.  It was my first movie in a theatre.  The matinee we were supposed to see was “The Apple Dumpling Gang”, a Don Knotts movie.  But one of us conned the ticket person to sell us tickets to the other movie playing in the other theatre.  “Star Wars”.  I remember flashes of it.  I couldn’t have recounted the plot to you, but I remember the music.  I remember the light sabers.  I remember the Death Star blowing up.  I remembered robots.  And I remember Princess Leia.

So then there were two other movies, and I saw the characters grow up and mature as I grew and matured.  Now we’re going deep.

There are two reasons “Star Wars” is more than just a space movie to me.  Leia and The Force.

Leia is a child, really, in “Star Wars”.  A young girl.  In the beginning of the movie, she’s in trouble.  But she is not afraid of these towering men.  She is the *leader of the rebellion* against them.  She has the plans that will destroy them.  And she has *clearly* outwitted them, and they know it.  So they blow up everyone she loves to break her.  But it doesn’t.  It strengthens her resolve.  Now, there’s purpose to her survival other than delivering a message.  Now, she’s really going to “deliver a message”.  When the “men” show up to rescue her – she’s the one that blasts them out of there, and isn’t ashamed to take credit for it.  She has a mission.  She has a brain, but she can fight when she needs to. She is resourceful.  And she’s all of about 19 years old.  As she progresses throughout the other two movies, she is all those things and more.  In “Empire Strikes Back”, she opens her heart and falls in love.  She orchestrates the initial maneuver to rescue Han from Jabba’s lair.  And when she is “enslaved”, she breaks loose, and wearing a gold bikini, she strangles that blob bastard *all by herself*.

You get where I’m going with this, right?  I can only *hope* that there’s a character like this in the new movie, and that Riley can have that like I did.

Second reason – The Force.  Han calls it a “hokey religion” in “Star Wars”.  But it’s not a religion at all.  Obi Wan says, “The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us.”  It’s the human experience.  It isn’t discriminatory, although those meant to be Jedi can use it to throw people around.  What better way to think about the world than to know that the power is within us to make all things right and true.  The thing that can make everything right is *in* us – that it isn’t hovering above us, waiting for us to screw up and condemn us.  In “Star Wars”, for those who understand it, it can be used to “bring peace to the galaxy”.  Or, it can be used to “rule” the galaxy.  But ultimately, it is the good that prevails.  And it’s all brought around by one kid, true to himself, true to what is right, even through the temptation and outstandingly negative odds against him.  And it’s that thing itself, The Force, that allows us to choose which side we’re on, or to change ourselves when we realize we are wrong (like Darth coming around at the end of “Return of the Jedi”).  Self awareness.  Self confidence.  The all-too-human ability to nourish ourselves with empathy, or destroy ourselves with selfishness.   **I put “Jedi” on a college scholarship application when it asked for my religion (I didn’t want to leave it blank).  I got the scholarship, by the way.** 

…Sooooo much better to be the change we want to see than to just think it’s going to happen…and to be able to hold ourselves accountable when we choose not to do anything…that’s nice too.

Now, I’m really not certain George Lucas meant all these little innuendos when he wrote such stunning dialogue (pfffft).  But was a nice side effect for this little girl, living in BFWNC (Asheville really wasn’t the hopping Metropolis it is now – that’s another essay), who really thought the whole universe was the immediate area around her home until I saw that movie. It was also nice to think as a fantasizing child that there might just be something “special” in me that no one, not even me, would know about until it was important enough to save the galaxy.  And I met lots of “others” as I got older, and realized that about them too -  “why, yes, I would like to watch your extremely rare VHS tape of the “Star Wars Christmas Special”  that only aired once, thank you…”.  Generations of kids who just wanted to believe in themselves.  I will be going on Saturday morning, with my sister, her family, Ben and my children to see the new movie.  When that logo comes up on the screen, and that first blast of theme music plays, I’m probably going to cry.  OK, not probably.  I’m going to cry.  I hope it makes my children feel powerful, special, and important.  Not to anyone else – but to themselves.  I hope it makes them believe just a little bit more in themselves.

Because that’s what “Star Wars” meant to me.

David Letterman - my TV hero.

All factions of my family were what we called “40-hour-a-week families”, which means, you needed to work 40 hours a week in order to make ends meet.  That status meant my sister and I normally rode the bus to my grandparents’ house from school every day, sometimes meant that we spent the night if it was late, and spent a whole lot of nights during the summer when school was out.  My granddad worked second-shift (3pm-11pm) at Steelcase from about 1977 until he retired.  When he got home sometime around 11:17 or so, we would be waiting up.  We’d make him a plate or a bowl of whatever supper we’d had, and we’d watch The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.

Watching Johnny Carson shows with my grandparents created some of the most lasting memories of my childhood.  Sometimes, when I get that faint flash that triggers a moment – a one-liner, a name mentioned on the news, that theme music - it literally stops me in my tracks, and I close my eyes and try to hold onto it for a second.  Just a second longer with them, hearing my grandmother belly laugh at Buddy Hackett, or my granddad say that “That Richard Pryor is one funny son of a bitch…”.

Then they’d go to bed after that hour of winding down after work.  But I was 10, and jazzed up. You gotta be kidding, “go to bed”…I just watched the funniest thing ever!  What a thing this was, television on late at night…celebrities, music, people *standing there telling jokes*!  I mean, holy cow – for me, I wanted more.  And I got it at 12:30.

If Carson was for me and my grandparents to watch together, Letterman was something for just me.  The guy had a face for radio – and low and behold, that’s where he’d started!  I played “DJ”…I looked funny…I was kind of a clown, even at 10…and these people he had on, they were people I *knew* - Bill Murray, Christopher Reeve, Siskel and Ebert...and the music from the band – there was a drummer that had a mullet – and it was current music, not big band swing - it was everything a budding sarcastic, movie-centric 10 year old girl needed to be a hit the next day.  And I soaked it in like a sponge.  I loved that he’d give the camera these looks like – what the hell am *I* doing here?!  Letterman was smug, and self-deprecating, and he wore t-shirts with suits and ball socks for crying out loud…he threw pencils at the camera!  He threw TV’s off the top of the building!  He had a bit where a guy lived under the audience!  He had a bit called “Network Time Killers”!  He had people doing nutty things and called it “Stupid Human Tricks”…I mean, who calls the people “stupid”, and they still come on the show!  Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.  Subversive.  Brilliant.  I would mock interview myself in the mirror, appearing on Letterman…”yes, Dave – can I call you Dave? – I am from Asheville, North Carolina”.  

I grew up with that guy, staying up way too late for a 10-18 year old during the 4 nights a week that the first-run shows ran.  To be honest, I’m not sure many people I knew in high school watched Late Night with as much – appreciation- as  I did.  Oh, I’m sure they liked it.  But the daily grind didn’t reflect it that much I guess.  So I thought I might be the only one who got the necessity of a personal daily Top-Ten list.  And maybe I wasn’t, but I don’t know.  Then I went to college.  And there were others.  Other geeky looking, late-night TV revering, kooky joke telling people.  I found them at the radio station (well, duh).  And we all just sorta – knew.  We knew the secret.  There were microphones!  We eventually all gravitated toward each other, and created amazing things. One of those guys got a ticket to Letterman’s first show on CBS – a rather large group of us were very, very jealous. 

My buddy Matt and I did a morning radio show, 3 hours a day, 5 days a week from August through December of 1994 – and we were obviously shaped by everything David Letterman did.  We did a top ten list (“Top Ten Good, Great, and Delicious Things About ‘The Appalachian’ – the ASU newspaper) and got some mean looks from the faculty advisor.  We then mocked said faculty advisor by saying everything was “good, great and delicious” (something a non-profit station wasn’t supposed to say about things to keep from sounding like we were “promoting” them).  Witty banter.  Bits with guests doing impressions or characters.  ALL ripped off from Letterman.  Then, a few of my other Broadcasting friends approached the TV faculty advisor about doing a TV talk show.  We all worked positions on other shows produced by the university – the stuff is already there – “give us a couple of hours during the week, and we’ll do it all ourselves – it’ll be good for us!”  They pitched it as a “Letterman-style sit-down talk show, set in Matt’s dorm room, with guests sitting on his bed”.  They were reluctant at first, but they agreed.  So we did it, and it was awesome.  Matt showing his movie soundtrack collection and one-liners about each one, lord-a-mighty a character called “Afro-Jack”, an unlikely fitness-video guru, cut-aways to audience members stunned faces…ALL ripped off from Letterman.  We were a hit, and holy cow – High Country Cable in Boone decided to run it on their local public access cable channel.  Good Lord.  Don’t these people in charge of things talk to each other?! We’re troublemakers!  Rabble-rousers!   

It was, aside from the joys I have as a wife and mother now, the best time of my life.

I think I will just watch tomorrow night, alone, and say some private goodbyes.  Probably shed just a few tears, mostly for the loss of his presence.  He was there when I needed him most - in late hours for the beginning of my self formation, even later in hours of self reflection -  and was likely the number one reason I went into that radio station the first chance I could.  David Letterman is my TV hero, and I have a lot to thank him for.  I’m sorry I never got the chance in person, but I will just mock-interview myself in the mirror later. Maybe that will suffice.

Creativity - Past, Present and Future

So...I've been searching for Morel mushrooms for a while. Did I really just start this with *that* sentence? Well, I have, and let me tell you, they are illusive. You just don't find them anywhere...they grow in special places, and those special places were apparently no where in my immediate vacinity. Not on the acreage up on the mountain. Not at Sugar Hollow. And not at my house in the city, right? Wrong. Where did I find three (yes, three) of them yesterday - after years of looking for them? In my own stinkin' front yard, right here in town. Now, the capitalist in me knows that these things are lucrative - valuable, even - and I like the thought that something that grows wildly at my house can produce income. Which makes me think that other things that can grow at my house could do that. Its a nice thought in case there's that "magnetic shift" thing, or a massive EMP that would render my computer useless. And they were right here, all the time.

That, my friends, is the lesson of this particular blog post. Sometimes what you're searching for is right in front of you. You spend a lot of time trying to find it, or trying to find it again, or searching for inspiration to make "it" again...and you can't see the forest for the trees.

THE SCREENPLAY

...is almost done. I'm handwriting it. I know, I know...but its my process, and I'm doing it. And, like the mushrooms, most of the inspiration for it is right in front of me. I spent a long time saying "Someday, I'm going to see something and write about it". As soon as I stopped looking for it, resigning myself to my everyday, blammo - and I hashed out the entire thing in my head over the course of, say, about 20 minutes. And its good. If I can find the time to transcribe it into appropriate software, and find time to tweak it, then I can unleash it on the world. Again - right there in front of me the whole time. "Inspired" by something I pretty much listened to and made presence of in my life on a weekly basis...

THE DRAWING

...is from 1995 or so. I used to be creative without computer generated help. Proof! I found this in a box that I had seen pretty much every day since, oh, about 10 or so years ago. I thought I had lost it. It was pretty symbolic of an amazing time in my life, where I had the most amazing friendships - so amazing that superhero drawings were about the only way to express our joy of just sitting on a couch together. I've been thinking, since I turned 40, that perhaps I had lost a little of what used to make me interesting. It was nice to find it in a box on the front porch.

THE RESIN PROJECT
...I'm still a little dubious about. My thought was - "Stress sucks. Why don't I teach myself how to make some stuff?" I am not crafty in this sense, really. But I had a few good ideas, and $100 investment later, something I can hold in my hand. Now, a much nicer use for the thousands of Matchbox and Hotwheels cars laying around the house! College fund? Probably...there are that many...but really just a way to spend a sunny afternoon on the deck, and massive wasp sting on the back of my right knee aside, successful. The endless ponytail holders that Riley forces me to buy each and every time I go to Target or Walgreens? Useful once more!! Again - all just lying around the whole time.

All these things have the big fat capitalist in me buzzing. I suppose its a fine lesson for the kids: actually listen to the songs in Mom's iPod, repurpose your toys when you're over them, see what's growing around you and imagine it differently...all worth the moment of discovery for the inspiration.

Guitar lessons start in May...

New Word: "Statusfied"

I'll admit it - I Facebook crawl sometimes...late at night, when Ben is out with the boys, I'll troll through some folks' pages and walls, checking out their latest status updates. And I noticed something that was interesting to me - a lot of the folks I am friends with change their "statuses" more than once a day. Not that I'm not guilty of that too...I will do that when something happens. More when I was at home during the day and "The View" came on - *whip!* to the Computer! - hardly at all now that I am back to work. But some of the status changes by my friends were, like, life-altered states - serious stuff, happening multiple times a day, and out there on Facebook...every emotion, every dilemma, every happiness - questioning themselves and their confidence and their being in most any situation. And people respond to it - friends from years ago chime in with the most awesome advice - and it helps...the status-changer comes out of it at the end with some momentum and clarity. Reaching out to mutual benefit. Its good. But it made me feel inert...like nothing was happening to me, since I wasn't changing my status a lot during the course of a day, and tapping into friend resources to help solve the issues at hand. I have crazy kids. Insane pet moments. I have a whirlwind blood pressure cycle. Kooky extended family members - check! My Mom is still - my Mom. Why don't I do this too??

Because I'm "statusfied".

Yep. I have a great, amazing life that I am perfectly happy with, even if it's not perfect in any way, shape or form. Don't have to re-evaluate because I wasn't the best Mommy today. No need to question myself because I *technically* am not using my college degree. My day is my day, and I'm happy and proud to be in it, because I created it - I asked for every bit of this life; shaped myself around it, and wallow in it as much as I dance around it.

I don't want to sound arrogant...I'm not braggin'...the circumstances of my life are by no means something everyone should aspire to recreate for themselves. At 40, I'm just OK with it. I'm not overly ambitious career-wise anymore. I've accepted that my hair isn't awesome. Ben is my soulmate, and I'm with him probably until one of us buries the other in the back yard (hopefully from natural causes). I'm not competitive with other Moms. I'm just fine with where I'm at, and I make the best of what I've dealt myself from the bottom of the deck. I'm owning it. Whatever I've got, whatever I've been given to deal with - I jump on it and in it and I'm proud that I am **OK**. Not perfect. Not ideal. OK.


"Statusfied". Anyone know who to contact about getting that one in the dictionary? Ha! Guess I spoke to soon about being ambitious...oh well...I'll save that for another day.

I Blame Robert Pattinson

Recently, a friend of mine, at her 10 year olds' insistence, went and popped some money on a suit for him. A full-on real suit. Just to be funny, my response (via Facebook, of course) was "I blame Robert Pattinson". And it got a few laughs, which was the point...or was it? No...I now assert that there are many, many things to blame Robert Pattinson for.

Disaffected staring: All teens have blank stares. You did. I did. But teen dudes now...holy cow. I have never witnessed more blankness than that of a 15-17 year old boy's stare. At nothing in general. Wispy drones, looking beyond what they are actually looking at...like every single scene in "Twilight". What the hell is that?? Granted...I am not a fan of the "Twilight" "saga" (yechhh - I can't even type that with a straight face). I'm more of an "Interview with the Vampire" girl myself, but who are those people? I know that vampires are supposed to be, you know, soul-less, but the other characters - who aren't vampires - too? I'm stunned by the vapid emptiness in that whole deal. Like they care so much they act like they don't care. It all makes me feel very creepy watching it. Yesssss, I watched it. Late one night, when there wasn't anything else on. Noooooo, I haven't read the books ("The books are soooo much better, sooo much better..."). Yeah. OK. Not reading the books. Robert Pattinson is not my idea of "sexy", or "attractive"...or "talented", just because he's got a blank stare in him. He's just the one with the better car.

Whispery longing soliloquys: No 17 year old dude is gonna talk like that. And if you try to emulate it, you're gonna get put in a locker. If you are NOT a vampire, you just can't pull that off, so don't try. If even the best looking of the 17 year old dudes had even opened his mouth spouting that garbage when I was 17, he would have gotten pommelled by the entire 2nd period weightlifting class. And I would not have fallen for it. Any of you guys out there want the smart girl - which incidentally, still remains the best decision for your future you might ever make - talk like a normal guy. Compliments. Not wispy whispering longings "Bella...you're my forever". Yeah. Whatever, Dudepire. Impress me by quoting Prince. Make me laugh, not throw myself off a cliff (yeah, the chick tries to do that in the 2nd movie). Look like you've read a friggin' book that doesn't have pictures. I blame Robert Pattinson for every stupid breathy movie scene by teenagers we will have to witness from here on - and possibly mis-directed cliff diving.

Shirtless posters in WalMart: Really? Shirtless posters? Even Andy Gibb didn't do a shirtless poster. And what pre-teen or recently-teen's mom lets them have a SHIRTLESS poster? Oversexualized...his character is SUPPOSED to be a JUNIOR IN HIGH SCHOOL. I am not stupid - I know kids in High School are sexually aware - but there's 11, 12, 13, 14 year old GIRLS (and maybe some guys) lookin' at that too. I just don't need to see a gaggle of them gathered around the poster kiosk at WalMart, talking about his nipples. Really. I do NOT need to see that.

All other future Vampire movies: Too bad, too. I hear there's a remake of Dracula coming...let's hope they don't have him as a lusty teen...because that would be bad. And vampires ARE...they are BAD. Vampires = BAD. No amount of lipstick and hair gel should really remove that message. It's too bad, too, because vampires make for great stories! But now, sadly, they will all end up being 17 forever. And mad about it. Bor-ing.

But most of all, I blame Robert Pattinson for becoming - Robert Pattinson. From what I can gather, if he'd not been perpetually sterotyped as a teen lusty vampire, he might have had a chance to do something else in his life that didn't mention the word "Twilight"...but now...he's got no one to blame for the awfulness of his career but himself. He'll be typecast as the "wistful teen dude", and his name will always be followed by (Edward, "Twilight"). I hope they all hold it together, actually, those kids. Even the werewolf one...he seems a little dim...let's hold out a little extra hope for him.

So, now, whenever you see some 17 year old, shuffling his feet, and looking beyond you when he's talking to you, and has maybe a little too much hair gel and pouty lips (that might be a little too red), and whispers all the time, you, too will blame Robert Pattinson. Whenever you see yet ANOTHER teen vampire rip-off movie, you, too, will blame Robert Pattinson. We all have to suffer now because of Robert Pattinson. It's all his fault.

Opportunities, or stark realizations of Aging Ungracefully?

I have suddenly come to the stark realization that I am almost 40. And I totally get how you might get the wrong idea about my stating that...I suppose that most women, when they come around to their own midlife crises (per se), say that with some amount of displeasure about their appearance - and start complaining about "crow's feet", or point to body parts and breathlessly whine "how did this happen to me???" But that's not what I mean...not that I don't have crow's feet (I certainly do), and have a little sagging here and there (I'll just keep those locations to myself). What I mean is that I am now sure that I am "emotionally" almost 40. I'm losing my youthful exuberance about certain things that I thought I would always get excited about.

A few things lately have come to light that, in the past, I would have considered opportunities. The one in particular that has inspired this little rant - the chance to get back on the air at a radio station. Why am I not completely enamoured by that?! Is it the minimum wage pay scale? Nah, being a DJ was never a money-maker. Is it that there is literally no contact with the public, because you go in now and record everything ahead of time digitally (just in case you don't know - the guy you're listening to - at that moment - isn't really sitting in a booth anymore, talking to you...he recorded himself two days ago, and he wasn't talking to you when he did - so, when you think that song that just came on "came on" at just the right time to pick you up symbolically, it didn't - it was going to be on at that time, and it was planned several months in advance). So, I'm in front of this microphone, and its all very mechanical. And easy. And unfathomably boring. And I suddenly start thinking of 10 reasons to not do it. Am I past my prime? Nope...my voice is probably better than its ever been. Physically, can I operate the equipment? Doesn't intimidate me at all, even though I've never used it. So it's gotta be emotional, right? Oh yeah.

Why do I not want to get back on the air?

I keep thinking of this line from "The Wedding Singer"...I know, don't start - I'm just trying to make a point:

"I'm not in love with Robbie, now. I'm in love with Robbie, six years ago. Robbie, the lead singer of Final Warning; I used to come watch you when you were in your silk shirt and Spandex pants, and you would sing into the microphone like you were David Lee Roth."

That's really it - I'm in love with radio 10 years ago. Before I had a family that I'm sorta finding solace with in all this. Before I had 3 businesses to run. The radio I used to go to and play David Lee Roth, instead of Taylor Swift. When it actually required talent, and wasn't so easy a monkey could do it. I guess they figure you can buy plenty of bananas with $7.25 per hour.

So I guess I've grown past it. Or maybe it grew past me. Either way, I'm disenchanted with something I always thought would excite me. I still like toys (I can still solve my Rubik's Cube), and I can still squat long enough to "catch" a softball game if I wanted to. I will still watch "Footloose" if its on. I guess I'll just have to put this in the category with Don Johnson gaining 60 pounds and refusing to do a Miami Vice reunion show.

I'm supposed to go there tomorrow, and do some test recording. Maybe it will snow...how symbolic...the winter of my life. If this sounds all melancholy, I really don't intend it to be; I'm actually kinda content with the turn of events. I like being a grown up. I love my life now more than ever. I can still be interesting and not know when Ke$ha's new album is dropping.

Now, though, it's time to go pick up my kid from school, do some 2nd grade math homework and figure out what's for dinner.

I think I'll make some Ramen Noodles and Macaroni and Cheese, just to give my youth a proper send-off.

Remembering my friend, Andy DeLong today...

My favorite joke whenever I saw Andy was “ah…Andy…the brother I never wanted“. He tortured me at any given opportunity. For instance: I had just gotten my new car, first car I ever bought on my own. I was driving down the road not so long after buying it, and kept getting honked at by other drivers. I thought “man, I look better in this car than I thought!”. Sadly, no - I caught a glimpse in my review mirror finally of the bumper sticker Andy had placed on the back window that said “Honk if you love Barry Manilow”. I retaliated, of course, by putting an entire deck of cards inside his gas tank door, so that when he opened it they would all fall out. But I have to admit, it wasn’t as good as that bumper sticker. Once, Andy was running down the hall at RE/MAX to get a call in his office that I was passing from the switchboard,. As he ran by I yelled after him “Run, Forrest, Ruuuun”…to which , he just collapsed laughing in the hall, sort of “hawing” as he did when he laughed, and breathed “put it to voice mail, just put it to voice mail”. He was always better than me at these exchanges we used to have - he used to make fun of my name, which was Tammy Jo Bradley (at the time)…now, if you’ve ever seen a show called “Petticoat Junction” you know that all the girls on the show were named “________ Jo Bradley”…so he would see me and sing “There’s a little hotel called the Shady Rest at the Junction”…and I would make fun of his name play in his advertising saying “DeLong way is dorkier and thiftier with a dollar”. He called pregnancy my “fat stage”. And I would say, “well my belly will go away, but your feet will always be that abnormally large“. Once, he couldn’t think of a comeback to me, and said “well…your Mama!”, and then stopped and said “no wait…I like your Mama”. Everything was so genuine with him…his faith was real, his joy was real, his emotions were real. Ben and I got to see him a couple of weeks before he passed. There’ve been some tough times in real estate here over the last year and a half or so, and we were lamenting on the beginnings of the downward turn. Andy walked to Ben, put his hand on his shoulder and said “Don’t worry, Ben. I’ve prayed about it…I know you may not believe the way I do, but I know - we’ve done this right. WE are going to make it through all this.” Never, ever, in all the teasing or torment did he ever put me down, never ever did I feel offended or that it was in bad nature. So the truth is he is exactly the brother I wanted. And he was the friend that I had, and I am so much better for it. I miss him, and am thinking of his wonderful family today.