My little brother Jacks

Those who know me well will either smile, laugh or groan when I say…. I don’t do parties. For various reasons that I just won’t go into I simply DON’T DO parties, I don’t like to attend them & I don’t like to have them. So if I have ever attended your party please take that as a serious compliment & if I did NOT attend a party you invited me to… well now you know why. Despite this sentiment it came to my awareness that a corporate ‘Goodbye’ to my Kansas City family was necessary & so it was with much hesitancy that I asked my sister to throw me a get-together before Christmas.

It was good & I’m glad that I did it Amen & Amen. Katrina instructed the guests to write their favorite memories & parting thoughts on scraps of paper which we then found all over the Compound . Today I sat down to read through them & receive the encouragement from my beloved community & one in particular simply had to be shared.

Originally this post was titled “My buddy Jesse Koepke” because I def thought I had his handwriting nailed. In a hilarious stream of txt messages I actually found it was written by my little brother, Jackson Bohlender. Face – Palm. Of course. I should have guessed. So ladies & Gentlemen, out of the mind of Jacks;

During the crime wave of the 1980’s, when we were both living in New York City, and you beat that guy over the head with an umbrella when he tried to mug you

That was my probably my favorite memory of you.

It was a different day then, too. Anyone would’ve been scared, but it was 1986. The murder rate topped 2,000/year. Violence was king, and fear filled the crisp autumn air like a thick fog. But like a dead fish in water, you rose to the occasion. You exhibited great bravery. Or at least that’s what the Mayor said as he handed you that Citizenship Award.

You were in the paper, they put you on the 6:00 news. You became a local hero overnight.

Your praise was sung in the streets.

Your social charisma preceded you. We’d be in line to pay the check after eating out, the cashier would recognize you, say something to the effect of, “My, it’s you! You’re the young lady who beat up that mugger!”…. and he’d comp your meal.

Not that I was jealous. Personally I found the whole ordeal frivolous. But, like most pleasurable things in life, it all had to come to an end, when the police found cigarettes in your car.

The End.

Thanks for that Jacks……. thanks?


3 thoughts on “My little brother Jacks

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