My Brother Walks

First, the very, very, very, very... You get the point...
Good News!!!

My brother was admitted to a rehab center for a period of sixty days. No jail time. There may just be a God after all. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. He'll keep his job and his house, and his daughters will have a father.

We are planning a trip to go see him in Texas when he gets out.

Thank you.

At the same time, my father and step-mother had her son Mike committed to rehab, the guy that was drinking rubbing alcohol--remember? Mike escaped and returned to the house and confronted my dad. Dad picked up the phone right in front of him, so Mike attacked him. Dad described what happened next like a scene from a Chuck Norris flick. He hit Mike with an open palm in the chest, which picked him off the ground and put him on his back, then jumped on top of him and said politely, "Don't move a fucking muscle--you're going back."

He confided that this was all he had in him, that his old body couldn't take much in the way of retaliation, but I don't believe that either. He's feeling his age, but he's one bad dude when he gets his Tempest swirling.

So my half-brother and my step brother are both on the road to recovery, at least I can only hope.

Today, I am beaming!

Mr. Schprock gave me an idea a while ago, having made a comment about a post I entered some time back, so I decided to submit another entry to the story contest, this time with a bit more levity, and more bend to the truth. I don't know yet if the host will allow a second entry, but I wrote it anyway.

I call it Chip Off the Old Block.

Update : See the previous post. I seperated the story into a seperate post.