The Picture of Dorian Gray

Hi, Dear Readers, I’m back.  And just in time.

Yesterday, October 13, was my brother Kenny’s 65th birthday.

Now everyone who knows me knows I love my little brother.  I look upon him as my first kid- not a sibling at all.  But this came as a big surprise to my mother.

You see when he was born, I was four years old.   Up until then, I had been a spoiled and doted-on only child and she was sure that I would be jealous of the new arrival.

Instead I took one look and I was thrilled.  I thought they had brought me home the cutest baby chimp ever and I was delighted with my new toy.

He looked just like this.

He even has a chimp’s bow legs.  (My dad always used to say that Kenny looked like a horse had run out from under him.)

I dragged him around with me everywhere.

(In the spirit of full disclosure, I remember handing him that stuffed animal.  That dog was mine.  Kenny never would have picked it up on his own.)

All he ever had in his hand was this.

I can never remember him as a kid when he wasn’t holding a ball of some kind.  He used to sleep with his mitt.

(Does he still do this, Mary Lu?)

He was my wing man when I got older, too.

Even as a teenager, he was never the pesky little brother my boyfriends wanted to shoo away.

If they wanted to date me, they had to know Kenny.

(This was not exactly hard duty, because some of them were counselors at Camp Ojibwa and once they discovered that he was a good athlete, they clamored for his services. They pretty much bribed him during the year so they could have him on their team during the ultra competitive Collegiate Week.)

Kenny was my partner in crime.  And he never ever used what he knew about me to get in dutch with my mother.

(Although he still maintains he has enough dirt on me to get me grounded today.)

These days however, one is struck with another thing about Kenny.

His appearance.

It never changes.

Well, maybe it has.

For the better.

He looks the same to me as he always did.  Preternaturally youthful. And he still loves playing hardball, too.  A great combination of heredity and hard work.

But if we both inherited our parents’ “skinny genes,” I sure got cheated in the hair department.

I’ve got ALL the Roffe gray hair.

Kenny doesn’t have one.

It’s a gyp but I love him just the same.

Happy birthday, little brother.  Wishing you many, many more years on your field of dreams.

Cheers.

And now, Dear Readers, as my birthday gift to you in honor of Kenny, please watch ALL of this clip.  It is one of the funniest shows that EVER appeared on television.

It’s an oldie but a goodie.

A classic.

Just like KSR.