Another “A” Word

By Jan Allen

When we were kids, I would scream at my brother, “Crybaby!” Or sometimes, “Dork!”

Jack would scream back, “You’re adopted!” His insult continued into adulthood.

After Dad died, Mom’s heart ballooned. I moved in, cared for her for eight years; she found fault. Jack visited twice a year; she found a sense of humor.

Mom left everything to Jack—the house and $50,000.

I meet my brother for lunch sometimes. He always brings up Mom’s will. “I guess I said you were adopted so often, Mom started to believe it.”

We eat wherever Jack chooses, always some greasy spoon. He treats.