ah, family



I got to see my cousin Jeff the other day. I heart him. The family lore about me and Jeff is that when I was one and he was eight, I lurrrrrved him, and every time I saw him I would lick his face. Later, when I was six or so, I kept stealing his Luke Skywalker action figure. I must have been a pretty annoying little girl to have around. I'm surprised he doesn't run away when he sees me coming.

Of course, I've toned down the licking. But I would still probably insist on playing with his Luke Skywalker action figure, if I knew where he had it secreted away.

My other vivid memory of Jeff is that his room used to be plastered with KISS posters, which I, at four, thought were the scariest things ever. I had to walk past the door of his room to get to the bathroom at his house whenever we visited, and I always shut my eyes and ran past so I wouldn't have to see that tongue waggling at me.

Maybe there was some sort of cosmic justice involved there.

Jeff is now a tattoo artist, eminent in his field. He had a motorcycle accident a few years ago from which he has taken some time to recover-- the injuries to his dominant hand were severe. He's ready to get going again, though, and is busy renovating a space in Bossier City for his new tattoo shop. He is, he told me, "sick of disability-- I want my rock star status back."

Jeff, honey, you've always been a rock star to me.

1 comment:

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