I have three brothers. Well, one died when I was nine. But
still at one time, I had all three.
No, I don’t mind telling.
My father was away for the summer. He was a baseball scout
for the Florida Marlins. They were brand new then, an expansion team. It was a
busy, bright time for him. This gave my mother all summer to drink and the
income to do it. And I don’t mean this negatively. Just truthfully. She was a
very fun drunk. We would have big parties, all the adults laughing into each
other as I ran underneath them like eucalyptus trees erupting in the wind.
This summer my mom had a three week long party up north at a
private campground. It was woodsy yet refined in a way. Like a more lonely
version of the Catskills resort in Dirty Dancing. I say lonely because although
there was a staff, there wasn’t any activities. My mom and her friends
unsteadied the days with gin and tonics. Us kids pulled rough stones out from
the grounds and swore they were arrowheads. We were desperate for an adventure.
