Member-only story
I was the youngest child amongst 6. I have the good fortune to still have all my siblings. We meet with some regularity on Zoom.
I am grateful for the platform, which, despite lack of geographic proximity, allows us to keep in touch during this uncertain time of pandemic.
All have various ailments.
Including (but by no means limited to):
One lost his ileocecal valve to surgery; another has had both hips replaced; another (with not a little irony, a retired ophthalmologist) has had close to a dozen eye surgeries and a hip replaced; another has a coronary stent; another, like me, has had lumbar surgery.
None of us move as we once did.
And our reflexes?
Don’t even ask.
But we are alive and reasonably healthy, sufficient reasons for gratitude.
When I was a boy, I cannot say with certainty what virtues I possessed. I suspect I was more than a little spoiled, but also picked on.
I may have been the former; I certainly remember the latter.
Maybe the two were related.
The Biblical story of Joseph comes to mind. His coat of many colors, tangible evidence of his father Jacob’s favoritism, was but another reason for his brothers to hate him.
I cannot say my parents favored me, but neither did they single me out for discipline.
