Lights Out

Dear Matt,

Before I start with my roundabout apology I'd like to thank you for being born on my 4th birthday, you birthday stealer.

Remember the summer of '98? (Not to be confused with the Summer of '69...neither of us owned a 6-string because we were spirits in heaven that year.) You had just graduated from Rock Bridge and I had just celebrated my first wedding anniversary. I had a super bad haircut. Now do you remember?

It's the summer all able Durkoviches met up in Minneapolis and went to the Mall of America so Mom could buy a really rare Beanie Baby named Rex. Then Dad drove us over the border into Ontario and we squished like sardines into a floatplane that had benches instead of seats. Greg "Luck Pot Louie" Lawson got to co-pilot the plane with noise-reducing headphones and an actual seatbelt.

We flew over all those tiny, fuzzy islands and landed on Sphene Lake next to the dock of the Northern Lights Lodge. Remember how we repeatedly called it "Sphincter Lake" to get a rise out of Mom?

Do you ever get a hankering for a shore lunch like the fishing guides would cook us? They fileted the fresh catch, rolled it in cornmeal and fried it to golden perfection. The homemade chocolate chip cookies the owner's wife made every morning before 6 were pretty good, too.

Remember how you trolled your ENTIRE line that night in the boat? Greg and I have never laughed so hard. Do you ever have nightmares about northern pikes and their underbites? I remember how cold the lake was the six times I swam out to untangle Greg's expensive lures.

Remember how our cabin had two sides? Mom and Dad were on the sanctuary side of the connecting door and all us kids were on the other side...the side that afforded us the pleasure of listening to you get ready for bed every night.

First you had your dermatological face wash that, once foamy, had to rest on your face for 6 minutes. While you marinated in acid you'd bang out your first set of pushups. Then you'd rinse the foam, tone, and apply a topical Rx. Then you flossed. Commence second set of pushups. Then teeth brushing (where you smashed the faucet down as loud as humanly possible), chapstick, pink Baby Magic for your hands, and the final set of pushups. Then you read your scriptures. Then you rigged up your Discman to just the right Chicago song that reminded you of some girl named Charity. Then you would finally kneel by your cot and say your prayers and turn out the light. Greg and I were intrigued/irritated/amused every night because we were so tired and yet there was no chance of sleeping until your rigorous nighttime routine was over.

I am proud to announce that I have morphed into something inextricably worse than you. The other night as I was finishing up what I thought was a speedy and acceptable nighttime routine Greg called out from our bed, "Anytime now, Matt." Whatever. He said it sometime after the flossing, Sonicare, retainer brushing, eye make-up removal, Clairsonic, and cotton-ball applied toner, but sometime before the facial and eye moisturizers, neck cream, nighttime pore treatment, cell renewal serum, cuticle oil, chapstick, journal entry, and prayers. I was so insulted I didn't even brush my hair upside down to distribute the oil or do my sleep-enhancing yoga stretches.

Please accept my latent apology for all previous heckling as I have now joined your V.I.P. Bedtime Cosmetology Club. Due to my recent membership I've got your back this June at the upcoming family reunion. We can prep for beddy-bye together while everyone else winces and groans in their bunk beds. Ain't nothing wrong with us.

Love, Wass a.k.a. The Original May 12

*Photo of morning fog on Sphene Lake, Ontario, Canada, home to thousands of northern pike and thousands of dollars of lures.