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Daze of My Life: Weighting for My Brother
Daze of My Life
Weighting for My Brother
Maybe my older brother--four years, 11 months older--will be an inspiration? Maybe his valiant effort to eliminate, well at least be cognizant of his carbohydrate consumption, will motivate yours truly to follow his lead. Given his lifestyle, his business lunches, his dinners out with my parents, his Suzi Q infatuation; it's not easy eating healthy and heart smart.
More so that the immediate, most direct family history that he and I are lucky enough to have--our parents--is so encouraging. My father is 86 and my mother, come Dec. 5 will be 83. And not that either one of them is playing golf three times a week--heck, they're not even watching golf three times a week--but neither are they hospitalized, nursing-homed or bed-ridden. Sure, my father is care-given and my mother rarely runs errands or prepares meals (though she's still excellent on post-meal cleanup); comparatively speaking, as my mother, Celia, might say, "Not bad for an old couple."
And as my brother, Richard and I, contemplate our mortality, it's difficult to ignore the family facts most often in front of us. Whatever our parents did, or didn't do, whatever genes they have, or don't have, that they inherited, or not, ("Good peasant stock," as my father is fond of saying) seem to be working, and by working I mean, keeping them alive--and all of us relatively healthy.
And so as to not abuse the privilege, at least so far as my brother is motivated; he deserves an A for effort. He is attempting to change his diet and take advantage of his (our) God-given--or parent-provided, depending on your perspective--prospects. And the weight to which he aspires is a number I can only dream about because (A) I weigh more than he does in the first place and (B) In the second place, I haven't been that number since I lied about being that number (weight) two driver's license renewals ago, approximately 10 years.
(All I can say is, it's a good thing the MVA doesn't have a scale in-house to go along with its eye exam when you need to show up in person to renew your license.)
Really though, I wish him well. If he succeeds in reaching his number, perhaps I'll wake up and not smell the bread baking (the M & S Bakery in Baltimore, a few weeks ago or the Hostess Bakery formerly located on Georgia Ave. NW, near Howard University), but instead hear the fruits and vegetables calling.
It's never too late to change, right? Here's my brother, older and maybe a bit wiser, mentoring his younger brother; this time with actions, not words. I see it. I get it. I'm not a total blockhead, just a little resistant and somewhat incapable to change. But why fix it if it ain't broken, I question?
Well, for all I know, it is broken, and I simply don't realize it? Maybe my health is like water damage in your house; what you don't see may be causing the most damage. And waiting for some more obvious indication that something is indeed rotten in Denmark (so to speak), may be the easy way to avoid the truth now, but it's likely to be the hard way to learn about it later.
Kenneth B. Lourie is a regionally syndicated columnist who resides in Burtonsville, MD.
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