My older brother (the one with colic, who drove mom crazy, it wasn’t me, I swear) was and is his father’s son, with nice teeth, who brushed those teeth so often and so close to the bathroom mirror that there was a misty-white covering in the right hand corner that never seemed to go away. Although the rest of his health and body have deteriorated, mostly due to decades of alcohol abuse (like father, like son) he’s never had a cavity.
Little brother was an “OOPS” baby, as was I, mom even admitted (to me) that upon being told she was pregnant with her third child (“sorry Doc, I already have a girl and boy, don’t want anymore”) she decided to drink a large bottle of castor oil in hopes of aborting me (an old-wives tale that obviously didn’t work). She also admitted (years after attempting to kill me) that she felt closer to me than any of her other offspring. (ahhh) Probably told the same thing to the other three and/or hoped to avoid the cartoon-like-horror-revenge tales prevalent in Hollywood at that time. Back to little brother: much younger than the rest of us, the only one born in the 60’s, kind of an (OOPS) afterthought and remained that way for all of his formative years. I’ve always felt somewhat sorry for him as he didn’t get to experience Dad as anything but the drunk he became and not the good guy-school teacher who I recall fondly (and who is still recalled fondly by his many, many former students who I run into occasionally, often when least expecting it. Sis bumped into one of these formers a few years ago, in Paris at the base of the Eiffel Tower, small world).
As for me? that is something you’ll have to figure out during the course of our (one-sided) discussions. Till tomorrow….