There are four children in my family. Tim is the oldest, then me, Debbie, and my younger brother, Terry.
Tim and I are twenty-three months apart and as kids, we constantly fought. Now, we’re best friends – probably because we live in different parts of the country! I call him every Friday night and we talk for hours about politics, religion, the stock market, and everything in between. We usually end up reminiscing about our childhood.
“Why did we fight so much when we were younger?” I asked Tim last Friday.
“Cause you wanted to follow me around and do whatever I did. Like the time you climbed into the tree house after me, even though I said you couldn’t.” He grunted. “You’ve always been stubborn.”
“Even back then, you should’ve known not to tell me I can’t do something. Besides, as soon as I sat on the planks, you pushed me out. It’s a good thing I fell into the sand box below.”
“Yeah, and Mom gave me the whipping of my life.”
The next day, Dad built sides on the tree house.
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Romance Writers of America, 2014 Golden Heart® Finalist