I picked up my baby brother and went outside, we crossed the street--looking both ways of course--and opened the small gate to the neighborhood park. I led him over to the swing, set him on my lap, and began going as high as possible.
"Aaaaaaaah!" he squealed as we neared the apex of our flight pattern. We pushed the swing into reverse, evading invisible adversaries, We darted forward. He let out another squeal.
I put him down and joined my other brother and a bunch of neighborhood kids in a game of soccer. My brother is about 5 years older than any of the other boys, so even though it was all them against him, the teams were unfair.
I left the game, picking up my baby brother and we went down the slide. Leading him by the hand, I climbed up the stairs, taking small steps so he could keep up. We went down again.
We turned our attention to the soccer game, pretending to be profesional commentators. "He's going, going, going, going, GOOOOOOOOOOAL!" I screamed.
"BaAAAbababaababa," he squealed, "Maaaamamam."
Finally the time came for us to return home. My little brother and I, holding hands, crossed the street.
I can't believe you have been blogging since Novemeber and today is the 1st time I hear about it. It's been fun reading through your past post. I love your writing style:) I'll be checking in often... I never knew your dad went parachuting or that you were playing soccer again. It's a fun way to stay connected. Love ya!
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