My brother Andrew is leaving on a mission in a couple of months, and for some reason the past few weeks I keep thinking of all these stories about him as a kidlet. One of my favorites came to mind yesterday:
My freshman year in college, I was getting ready to go down to campus to pick up season football tickets. Andrew was all of... what, barely four? I think so. Anyway, Mom had some kind of errand to do and I was watching him so I dragged him along with me. At the ticket window, the nice lady gave Andrew an indulgent smile and said, "Well, you sure do look like your mom." I was kind of confused. Did I know this lady? Did she know my mom? Did Andrew look like my mom? Not particularly.
Only after several seconds of complete confusion did it dawn on me that I was the supposed mom. I was pretty floored, and spluttered something about how this was my brother, not my son. The woman was a little embarrassed and when I told her my age said, "Well, I guess you would have had to be a child bride." I think I fumed about this incident for several weeks -- how could anyone think I was old enough to have a four-year-old? I was barely eighteen! An omen of things to come, I suppose, since here we are fourteen years (!!) later and I have only recently gotten around to having a kid of my own.
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