prior to 1984, it was just us two
12.10.04 // 2:11 a.m.

Sometime in 1981, Danny tried to choke me. Wait, he hugged me. He protected me, he showed me the love an older brother is supposed to have for his little sister.

I think it was also around that time that Danny was so proud of me. He insisted that some visitors, my friends' parents, come see his little sister asleep in her crib. So, they followed. Danny, climbed up onto the side of the crib. With his weight, he knocked it over, and I woke up crying. I don't think my mom was too happy.

I didn't have too much hair as a kid. My parents shaved what little hair I did have. Anyway, one day, my mom took us grocery shopping with her. I was in the front seat wearing a cute little bonnet that had braids attached to it. Some random lady started fussing over how cute I looked in my bonnet and how it was amazing that I had such long braids. Danny didn't like that I was getting the attention. So, what did he do? He yanked the bonnet off and told the lady standing in line with us ready to checkout, "She doesn't have braids! She's bald!" That was embarassing.

Christmas was always fun for us. It meant dressing up and acting out the story of baby Jesus' birth.

It also meant being well coordinated in our clothes. My mom insists that we (me and my siblings) were so much cuter when she used to dress us and comb our hair. She may be right.

Up until early 1984, it was just Danny and I, which was probably a good thing. My young, long- and dark-haired parents (now it's full of canas) were too busy partying to really settle down with two more little ones.

I don't remember much of what that was like. I'm sure we played all day and posed for cute pictures. We probably took trips with my mom to her parent's house in East LA where we would wait for my dad to get out of work and pick us up.

We had fun. It was a very good childhood, but damn it feels like such a long time since we used to dance folk�rico together, play on the A�s baseball team, sing in the church choir, and saturate the trombone section at WHS with kids who�s last name the band director couldn�t pronounce.

Oh yeah, I know I don't tell you this enough, but you're my favorite older brother! I love you. I think I just might head on over to the house to have hot dogs and beer with you on your 26th birthday... damn you're old.

�Feliz Cumplea�os!

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