Despite the cold, snow and winter blues, the last week of January has always had a reason for celebration.
My “little” brothers Gared and Grady each have birthdays this week. Gared’s is on Thursday and Grady’s is on Monday.
What this has always meant is double the birthday supper and double the cake. Or, just one big celebration.
So in honor of their eighteenth and sweet sixteenth birthdays, respectively, I thought I would share a few of my favorite Gared and Grady stories.
For anyone that knows Gared and Grady, they have different personalities. Gared is more rebellious, quick-witted and zany while Grady is very calm and sweet, usually.
When our other brother Grant and I were showing at the state fair one year, another girl from Lyon County was bothering Gared, who was eight at the time.
This girl said to him, “I’m going to beat the crap out of you!”
To which Gared replied, “You are too late. I already took my daily dump for the day.”
When Gared was three, one of our dad’s uncles died and he was cremated.
Well, Gared had never been to a funeral with an urn so during the Mass he asked, loudly, “Where’s the dead guy!?”
When Grady was little, there was a tube of “Icy Hot” in the bathroom and he thought it was lotion. Well, the poor kid put lotion on and then used the bathroom.
Within seconds, all we could hear was the poor kid screaming. Lesson learned.
As most of you know, Gared currently has a broken hand. When Grady was five, he and Gared were standing in the back of our dad’s pick-up and they thought they should jump down.
Well, Gared was fine but Grady ended up with a broken arm. So when Gared broke his hand, Grady didn’t feel too bad for him. Another thing they have in common is when they were born our grandparents had a difficult time pronouncing and spelling their names.
Since Gared’s name is traditionally spelled with a “J”, confusion was eminent. We were staying with Grandma and Grandpa Moorse and when our parents called to them and they first thought his name was Gerald.
Even our other grandparents were a tad confused. To this day our Grandma will sometimes spell Gared’s name Gerrad.
When Grady was born, it was the same type of confusion.
My grandpa thought his name was Brady. Then he thought they named him “Gravy”.
“Why would they name a kid Gravy?” I distinctly remember Grandpa saying.
Life hasn’t been the same since “Gerald” and “Gravy” and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Besides, I needed some more kids to blame things on!
All kidding aside, happy birthday Gared and Grady!