My partner-in-crime growing up was J. He is my first cousin; although growing up,
we were always asked if we were brother/sister or twins (even though J was
2 years older than me). Rarely did you
see one of us without the other. If one
of us was in trouble, it was likely both of us were in trouble. If granny was threatening to pop one of us
with a peach limb, chances were good we were both gonna get it….because if one
was involved in the “crime,” the other was guilty by association. We were inseparable.
I’ve mentioned before that my Hannie, J’s
mama, watched me when I was little. So,
J and his brother, D were my first best friends.
We were raised almost like siblings, and because I was the
baby of the group, I sometimes fell victim to the “brotherly love.” Like the time I was dared to drink fish food
in my root beer. Or the time they
convinced me that I, too, with my itty bitty legs (I was like 4) could take the
church steps 2 at a time (one chipped tooth and a dentist visit later…). Or the time one of us said “shut up” (oh the
obscenities!) and we all three got our mouths washed out with soap at
church.
But those two were the best, really. When I got stuck in a canoe at 2, J was
there to hold my hand. Or when D has
fixed several of my flat tires or has helped us with our animals. Or the time J flew in twice in a week when
my dad was sick and passed away.
I love those boys more than they’ll ever know. They still look out for us, to this day. And I wouldn’t trade my childhood for
anything in this world.
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