Entry #37: March 31, 2006

Camp Buehring, Kuwait (Somewhere near the Iraq border)

Well, it’s happened. It was inevitable, but I never thought I’d see the day. The Long boys are all adults. My youngest brother Joseph turns 18 today. You read that right folks, he can vote. Liberals and left-leaning politically correct vegetarians everywhere are crying out in anguish. The Long boys are all grown up.

Joseph is the eternal baby of the Long boys. Teased mercilessly, shackled by the shadow of two bigger brothers who once duct-taped him to a red garden wagon and pushed him down the steep hill that leads into our cul-de-sac, Joseph has earned his right to be called a man. Five years Matthew’s junior (six and a half mine), Joseph was always playing with the big boys. One of my favorite pictures of the three of us has Matthew and I wearing our Braves little league uniforms, complete with gloves and cleats, with Joseph resplendent in overalls and a shirt of many colors, all topped off with a batting helmet. He may not have been able to play in our game, but he would’ve tried to weasel his way in if he were a few inches taller.

The ugliest baby of the three of us (I, of course, was the most precious) has turned out to be the most handsome man. And I, in turn, have become the first to begin the hard fight against pattern baldness. Life is just. Rumor has it, however, that during an evening of festivities at my house (in my parents absence), a huge baby picture of Joseph was the main source of entertainment for a couple of my buddies. Poor Joseph, in this picture he has the huge forehead I bear now, along with auburn wisps of a mullet draping down his neck, ears with the wingspan of a 747, and two bottom baby teeth resembling stalagmites that supplied an impish grin. How things change.

Now many of you folks remember Joseph as the child we could never find. At soccer games, after church, probably even after he popped out of my Mom’s womb, the question was always, “Where’s Joseph?” He was usually perched up in some magnolia tree, taking in the sights and sounds of everyone frantically searching for him. Sometimes, a boy just has to climb.

His high school graduation is around the corner. The oak shaded quads of some lucky university beckon. He might climb those aged oaks for old time’s sake, but more likely he’ll be tossing a Frisbee on the emerald blades of grass in between. That doesn’t mean he’s done climbing. The ladder of life has many rungs. Joseph, best of luck, congratulations, and I love you brother. And so the Soldier’s life continues…