We grew up on River Avenue, with the sounds of the city all around us: the hum of traffic, the wail of sirens, dogs barking, kids yelling…
And when we did something particularly noteworthy – say, like smoking Papa’s pipe and throwing the matches behind his chair… or smashing windows with line drives and bad jump shots… or chucking acorns at oncoming traffic – we heard something else:
– Do you have rocks in your head?
– What are you, numb?
– If you ever do that again, I’ll brain you!
– If you ever do that again, I’ll break every bone in your body!
But just as often, probably more, we heard you say:
– Look after your brother.
Four words to live by. We grew up knowing that our family was our rock.
So today, we celebrate your birthday and the family you started, now three generations strong. Your fingerprints are on us all.
Happy birthday, Mom.