My brothers are three of my favorite people. I was almost 17 months old when the eldest of the three, Kenny, was born. Nicholas arrived 8 days before my third birthday. And Christopher about 4 months after I turned five.
I don't remember a time when there wasn't a Kenny Flade.
But I remember when Nick and Chris came home from the hospital. My mother put them right in my arms, each of them she says including Kenny, and told me they were mine to take care of and to love.
I took that responsibility seriously our entire lives. As several bullies could attest if they were willing to admit they got beat up by a girl. My brothers weren’t just my first friends – they’re my best friends. They know all my stories, are featured in all my memories, and share all my friends.
I am often saddened by the fact that over the course of adulthood we've made our lives and built our individual families in different states scattered between Florida and Philly. For years my parents hosted a weekend-long barbecue at their home in Maryland dubbed, by whom I don't remember, Flade-a-pa-looza.
But my parents retired to Orlando Florida, like older folks tend to do [God I hope my mom doesn't read my blog], a little more than two years ago. Flade-a-pa-looza has gone the way of the dinosaurs.
Thank God for Facebook
Facebook can be a big pain in the ass. People say the nastiest things under the illusion of anonymity social media provides. I've discussed this before and that's not what this post is about so I am officially off my soapbox.
I thank God for Facebook because I think my family uses it the way it was intended - to keep in touch with the people we love and meet new ones we could love.
Naive? Maybe. But hell, I write romance novels, remember?
Reading these old posts makes my heart happy. Because my brothers are three of my favorite people in the whole world.