We live on a block with five other little boys. The constant knocking at the door when I get home from work is an expected annoyance, the door flies open every fifteen minutes.
“It’s two hundred degrees out here, Mrs. Supa, may we please come in?”
Likely story, kid. I grew up in Houston with 98% humidity. You think this is bad? You don’t know hot. This is Texas, you better learn to love the heat.
Found myself in an interesting conversation with the youngest of the bunch. We were sitting on the front porch steps when I asked him, “How many kids do your parents have?” He is a surprise baby, so his siblings are in college and I have never known who was in the family.
“Three, I have one brother and one sister.”
“Neat. Do you have a big family? I mean, counting everyone on your mom’s side and your dad’s side?”
“Yes. We have a very big family. But it’s my dad and my brother who are on my side. Yep, pretty much, it’s me, my brother and my dad. My mom and sister are on the other side. We stick together because the girls in our family, they’re crazy.”
Oh, I bet.
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