There are certain milestones in each of our lives that demand attention and recognition. One of those is the occasion on which we turn 21 years old and in essence, become an adult. (Or as some people might note, when one becomes of legal drinking age. In which case, I would encourage one to exercise good judgment as well as moderation.)
My amazing nephew Buie, turns 21 today. Well, yesterday, because I am an idiot and can’t manage to accomplish anything on time anymore due to working 10 hours a day and resembling something out of Dawn of the Dead. But since I can’t turn back time, we’ll be celebrating here, in my screwed-up world, today.
Buie is known for his penchant for drunken supermodels and calling people by their wrong names. He impersonates other people on the phone and gets me everytime, even though he does it unintentionally. He may, on occasion, be a serious individual, but I’m just guessing because personally, I’ve never witnessed it. Or if I did, I didn’t recognize it and thought he was goofin’. He’s got this uncanny talent for sporting facial hair in different places and always pulling it off. (Not the hair, the looking-good part.)
One of my favorite memories of this boy, growing up, was when he was three or four years old. He was running with scissors a stick and as boys will do, fell and somehow managed to ram the stick up his nose (I know!) which caused some profuse bleeding. We lived close and being how mother’s sometimes freak in these situations, Hazel called us and we ran right over. PD, who’s got a stronger stomach than either Hazel or I, set about inspecting the wound to determine exactly where the blood was coming from. In the middle of the examination, that darling little bleeding boy with the beautiful big brown eyes looked up at PD and said (in his best Elmer Fudd voice, ” Is [PD] a doctor?” …
… Which reminds me of the time when he and his family were on a camping trip and, en route, stopped for a potty emergency and some things had to be unloaded from the car to let the full-bladdered one out. Mostly everything got put back in afterward with the exception of a sleeping bag, left on the roof. When Hazel got back on the road, Buie, again in Fudd-mode, was kind enough to alert her that, “Someteen fied off da woof!”
Yeah, he’s something. And I know he’s feeling all elated cause he’s gotten a full post out of me dedicated to him. But dammit, he reads here, and he deserves it. He actually deserved it yesterday, but (I will explain this expression, Buie, if need be) you can’t get blood from a stone.