My Brother: the (not)hippie


Last weekend was spent at home in St. Louis. My sister flew in for her baby shower, and my parents and brother were there too. We all slept in our own beds, just like it was when growing up. We sat in the same seats at dinner time. We still heckled each other like normal, and it was just nice. I remember thinking when my sister got married that it was never going to be just our nuclear family again, and although I absolutely love my brother-in-law, it was kind of neat for us to all be back together as the five of us, youknowwhatimean?

One day my sister and I were giving my brother grief about the length of his hair. (It is quite possible that some kid will mistake him for Jesus one day soon if his hair is down.) It’s not been cut since my sister’s wedding, two and a half years ago. And I’m already settling with the fact that there is no way he is going to cut it for mine. So, in these discussions we were telling him what a hippie he is. This is, by far, not the first time we have used this term in reference to him, and I *thought* it was a term he embraced and used himself. Apparently not. We were like: “What?! You don’t think you’re a hippie?! Well, what are you then? You’ve got to be SOMEthing!” Ha. So, even though he doesn’t accept it, my brother is totally a hippie: and her are the pictures to prove it. I love you, Christopher Robert!

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There is something I love so much about this next picture. I can’t pin it down. I know it is blurry. It just feels out of the 70’s and real to me.

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Happy Belated 23rd Birthday to my Bro!

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