Thirty Years

There’s something to be said for showing up early. It means you’re anxious to get started. I’d say the same was true when my little brother showed up thirty years ago, three and a half months premature, hooked up to machines and barely breathing. Same thing. Same reason. He was pretty anxious to get started with life. I’m proud to have seen him grow up, to have fixed his tie before he tied the knot, to have cheered his name when he walked the stage in May. Thirty years is a big deal for a boy once born at one pound, thirteen and a half ounces. A big, big deal.