My Big Brother

This is my big brother, Tommy, the greatest trombone player Lomita ever produced.

I've been thinking about him almost non-stop these last few days because tomorrow's
his birthday.

It's not one of those "milestone" birthdays that people get all excited about. But,
when you think about it, EVERY birthday after fifty is pretty special.

I'm taking some time to think about my brother and honor his birth day.

First of all, selfishly speaking, I'm really happy he was born because if he hadn't been
I don't think my parents would've ever tried for that "second" boy so that they'd
have two girls and two boys, but then, of course, I popped out and...well...the rest is
fandangled history.

So, his birth was a definite benefit to my being me. However, I doubt that he feels
the same enthusiasm because I was the mother of all little sisters.

This photo was taken around the time I whacked him upside the head with the
ivory-handled end of a six-shooter cap gun. I was mad about something and bonking
him just behind the right ear made perfect sense in my four-year old brain. It was
so Wyatt Earpy.

I used to tell on him, too...a lot. I mean he couldn't take a breath without me running
off to "tell Mom!" I'm ashamed that I was ever such a stinking little obnoxious tattler,
Tommy, and I want to publicly apologize for all those years of irritation I caused you.

And, I want to thank you for never drowning me in Lance McNabb's pool. You could
have done it so easily during an intense game of "Marco Polo." No one would have
noticed. You could have committed the perfect crime, but you didn't.

And, thanks for saving my life that time we were in Arizona walking around some old
Indian ruin when a gigantic black snake went flying between the rocks and you
started to run, but Dad said, "get your sister," and you did.

And, thanks for letting me ride your "upside down" bike, the bike you welded together
all by yourself and was just about the coolest thing around.

And, I just want you to know that, in my heart, I'm celebrating your birthday
tomorrow in a huge arena in which the town of Tombstone, Arizona has been
reconstructed around gigantic buffet tables with ice sculptures representing
the Battle of The Alamo complete with a life-sized statue of John Wayne with
both guns a blazin', with thousands of brightly colored balloons falling from big
nets onto the heads of hundreds of party goers, including Sharon Stone, Al Pacino,
William Shatner and George Clooney (my personal escort for the evening), as we
listen to the New York Symphony orchestra accompany the Mormon Tabernacle
Choir, conducted by John Williams performing every song written for all the
western fifties television shows, including Have Gun Will Travel, Bronco,
Wanted: Dead or Alive, Sugar Foot, Lawman, Bat Masterson, and the show
stopper, Cheyenne.

Yee-haw!

Oh, and it's a surprise party. Don't tell anyone I told you, okay. Just show up
whenever you can. We are having a special reviewing stand built just for you,
right next to the corral where they've tied up Roy Roger's stuffed horse, Trigger.

See you there! At which time I will come running to give you the biggest birthday hug.
Don't worry, I'll come unarmed.

Happy Birthday!