The Reunion

It was a reunion of sorts, my younger brother

and I attending a high school graduation party

for my grandson. Three-years passed since we

had last been together. Given our advancing

age it seemed as if an entire lifetime had flown

by. He, physically debased by cancer, had recently

turned seventy, and I, noticeably hobbled and

bent with arthritis, am one year his elder. Our

other brother, at seventy-three faring somewhat

better physically, but more emotionally obnoxious

of our brotherhood, was unable to attend. While in

a casual conversation with my son-in-law, he offered

a personal observation to my brother and I that we

three each in our own way favored our father in

physical appearance. Our dad, deceased nearly five

years, lived to be eighty-nine years old, a feat with

which my younger brother and I were most assuredly

not destined to not compete. I was, however, compelled

to add to the conversation how completely different

my brothers and I are given our temperaments and

personalities. And in so many ways how dissimilar

each of our lives turned out to be. And were he alive

today, I paused to wonder what dear old dad might

say? Perhaps he would admit that the three sons

he gave to the world were not intended gifts per se,

but originally came into being from irresistible acts

of lust, and the miscalculated deeds of biology.

Chris Hanch 5-27-18