My Fingers Were Crossed
Our parents believed a halo adorned my brother Brad’s head, and horns protruded from mine. No story had two sides: I was always wrong … which was the case when we fought the Mexican standoff.
For his birthday, Mama gave Brad a pirate outfit, complete with feather-festooned hat, Jolly Roger eye patch, and a long, curving scimitar. Brad jabbed and slashed at me until I could take no more.
“If I had a sword, I’d slice you to slivers,” I said.
“Ho-ho-ho,” he roared lustily, parroting a pirate. “A duel it is ya want, shrimp,” and tossing me a candy doubloon, sneered, “Buy yourself a sword, laddybuck, and prepare to meet the Grim Reaper.”
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