Sha-la-la-la

Here’s a picture of the fam on Chirstmas Eve. From left to right, we’ve got me, Reeners (Mom), Lara (little sis), Val (older sis), and Israel (brother-in-law). Doesn’t my mom look like the littlest babooshka in a series of Russian nesting dolls? She definitely doesn’t look happy here. Which reminds me of another photo. In fact, it was our first picture taken together, and just like this one, it shows how massive I am compared to Reeners. When I was born, I was three feet tall and weighed 35 pounds. The photo shows my dad in the foreground, holding me up like a trophy winning musky. In the background, you could see the doctors resuscitating my mom. Unfortunately, the photo no longer exists. The trauma my birth inflicted on her was too great to bear. It was the first time I almost killed her, and fifteen years ago—when she saw the picture hanging on my bedroom door—she snapped, ripped it to pieces, and had a nervous breakdown. The visible effects of that episode can still be seen in this picture.

She is not amused.