I’ve been sitting on good news for two weeks. Two weeks. I can’t tell you though. I can’t make an official announcement until the first of April. Keeping good news quiet is deliciously painful. As a Horticultural Therapist, I determined it was unhealthy to let the pressure of not telling build inside me. I diagnosed myself and decided the best prescription for relieving current don’t-tell pressure was to spill the beans on old secrets.
My older brother has been the contributing factor in several of my injuries and broken bones during the course of my life. It’s only fair he takes a couple for the team. Have you noticed how much easier it is to keep negative things secret—like your brother and his friends were the ones responsible for blowing up those mailboxes with M-80’s in the 1970’s—than it is to keep positive secrets? (I feel so much better. Thanks, Bro.)
My brother and I stole candy bars from a gas station when I was six and he was eight. The owner let us get away with it a couple times before he walked around the corner to our apartment and informed our mother, who was studying for finals in college. Our thievery may explain why she enrolled us in St. Mary’s. Or it might have been because we were Catholic. I still feel guilty when I see a Zero candy bar. And hungry.
My brother had a strong arm; was quite the athlete. By the time he was eight, the policeman in our neighborhood in Greeley, Colorado had nicknamed him Crabapple Luckert. He could nail a car from forty yards. He liked to throw things. Water balloons were popular and I admit I threw a few while hidden behind the backboard of the basketball hoop attached to our roof. (It's okay, Mom and Dad. It's in the past.)
Don’t worry. My brother didn’t turn to a life of crime. He didn't let me tag along, for long and he was always exaggerating, saying I was a tattle-tale.
Causes Jules Jacob Supports
CASA of Southwest Missouri, Master Gardeners of the Ozarks, University of Missouri Master Gardeners, Missouri Court Appointed Special Advocates Association...