My brother was born on the fourth of July. Try as I might, I cannot imagine a better day on which to be born. Not in OUR calendar year, at least. You get automatic, built-in, don’t even have to lift a finger: barbecues, parties and fireworks. FIREWORKS for crying out loud. Year in and year out, without fail. It’s all pretty fantastic, if you ask me. A far better deal than the one given to my friend who was born on February 29. Poor guy only really gets to celebrate a true blue birthday every four years. That could be cool though, depending on your personality type, I guess.
I remember the night my brother was born. But the memories only come in small snippets, short bursts of clarity like you might see on an old black and white television set, as you wiggle and maneuver the antennas around to get the picture to come in, free from all the static. A little to the right … now just a tiny bit to the left. Good! Hold it right there. Continue reading