Sometimes I write fanciful blog posts about family members when a special occasion comes about: Mother’s Day, an anniversary, a birthday . . . in the past, I’ve limited this to just my immediate blood relations. But my brother-in-law had a birthday this week, and I realized: Tim’s been married into this family for close to twenty years. I think he’s fair game now.
When Tim and my sister first started dating, he was a bit preppy, loved to golf, and had a stellar Catholic-school upbringing. He was a young, naïve man from West Hartford who had probably never expected to see a meat grinder in person in his lifetime, much less date someone whose father had one in the basement. (To his credit, he did not run away screaming when my father first eagerly demonstrated this flesh-grinding apparatus.) Tim’s first meal with the Longos is now part of family legend: Dad gave him a tour of the farm, and encouraged Tim to “talk” to a large boar named Romeo who was napping in the barn. As Dad snorted at the pig and egged Tim on to do the same, I thought, It was nice knowing this guy. When we returned to the house and Mom served spaghetti and homemade pork sausage, Dad speculating on which one of Romeo’s former girlfriends now sat on our plates, I was sure Kim would be single again soon. But even as Dad snatched a pesky hornet that’d found its way into the house out of the air and smashed it against the table without missing a beat, Tim just smiled. Wow. He must really like my sister, I decided. And as it turns out, he did.
Over the years, I’ve watched Tim change from that Springsteen-loving, “I’d love a tie for Christmas!” guy to a Springsteen-loving hunter who smokes his own meats. (The women in my family especially can’t stand The Boss, but I guess Tim gets to hold on to some piece of his former identity.) He regularly fishes with my father, and yes, has helped out stuffing sausage casings. He’s an avid reader and doesn’t miss any of the boys’ baseball, basketball, and Gaelic football games (most of the time, Tim’s the coach). He’s a pretty good guy. I’m happy to report that he not only doesn’t take offense to my dark sense of humor, but can crack some pretty twisted jokes of his own. Most importantly, he’s been wonderful to my sister and their boys, and I consider him more “brother” than “brother-in-law.”
When I called Tim the other day to sing “Happy Birthday” at him (another Longo family tradition, which is unfortunate, because most of us can’t carry a tune) he happily reported that my sister had gotten him the coolest gift this year: a five-drawer tool chest.
I’m not sure how it happened. I swear Tim used to wear cardigan sweaters and believed in things like dry cleaning and monogrammed golf club bags. Yet somehow, my sister saw through his disguise, and managed to marry our father.
Happy birthday, Tim!
When Tim and my sister first started dating, he was a bit preppy, loved to golf, and had a stellar Catholic-school upbringing. He was a young, naïve man from West Hartford who had probably never expected to see a meat grinder in person in his lifetime, much less date someone whose father had one in the basement. (To his credit, he did not run away screaming when my father first eagerly demonstrated this flesh-grinding apparatus.) Tim’s first meal with the Longos is now part of family legend: Dad gave him a tour of the farm, and encouraged Tim to “talk” to a large boar named Romeo who was napping in the barn. As Dad snorted at the pig and egged Tim on to do the same, I thought, It was nice knowing this guy. When we returned to the house and Mom served spaghetti and homemade pork sausage, Dad speculating on which one of Romeo’s former girlfriends now sat on our plates, I was sure Kim would be single again soon. But even as Dad snatched a pesky hornet that’d found its way into the house out of the air and smashed it against the table without missing a beat, Tim just smiled. Wow. He must really like my sister, I decided. And as it turns out, he did.
Over the years, I’ve watched Tim change from that Springsteen-loving, “I’d love a tie for Christmas!” guy to a Springsteen-loving hunter who smokes his own meats. (The women in my family especially can’t stand The Boss, but I guess Tim gets to hold on to some piece of his former identity.) He regularly fishes with my father, and yes, has helped out stuffing sausage casings. He’s an avid reader and doesn’t miss any of the boys’ baseball, basketball, and Gaelic football games (most of the time, Tim’s the coach). He’s a pretty good guy. I’m happy to report that he not only doesn’t take offense to my dark sense of humor, but can crack some pretty twisted jokes of his own. Most importantly, he’s been wonderful to my sister and their boys, and I consider him more “brother” than “brother-in-law.”
When I called Tim the other day to sing “Happy Birthday” at him (another Longo family tradition, which is unfortunate, because most of us can’t carry a tune) he happily reported that my sister had gotten him the coolest gift this year: a five-drawer tool chest.
I’m not sure how it happened. I swear Tim used to wear cardigan sweaters and believed in things like dry cleaning and monogrammed golf club bags. Yet somehow, my sister saw through his disguise, and managed to marry our father.
Happy birthday, Tim!
Due to the nature of Tim's job, I didn't want to use a real picture of him. So I drew this portrait of him and my sister. You're welcome.
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