Happy Birthday to my sister, Old Don Paco! She goes by several names, but Paco is her nickname and I’m not going to go into all that here. I’ve blogged about her before, marking the occasion where she earned her MSW, turned 28, and was just good at being Paco. We share memories and contexts as only siblings can, which means she was there when I was there, both of us being shaped and nurtured by our growings up.
I remember a time when she ran away. It was about 25 years ago, putting her at about 5 years old (I hope I’m getting the math right) and it was hardly a secret at all, her plastic picnic basket filled to the brim with toys, mostly, and some scarves. Grandma asked her what she was doing. “I’m running away,” she replied, in a sing-song voice. Grandma noticed how happy she seemed and didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good scheme. And that day, my little sister ran away to the backyard and forgot about running away. Or maybe she intended on living back there indefinitely. Or maybe something else caught her attention. How can one know for sure the inner-workings of the imagination and motivations of a five year old?
I’m glad you asked because she can. She’s trained in knowing the inner-workings of a five year old. I’d be curious to get her cursory analysis. She’s quite good at it.
Well. Happy birthday, Paco and welcome to 30. I sure love you and am proud of you and enjoy being brother to your husband and uncle to your son. Whoda thunk we’d be here, from your picnic basket full of toys and scarves and my penchant for nicknames, now the 30’s a shared decade for us, spouses and children and mortgages and adulthood. Please don’t run away. -TF