You were frequently left out of the jokes that dad and Colin and I would tell each other. All three of us were into things you didn’t really like that much ' Monty Python and the Smothers Brothers and just generally these very dry, very black witticisms.
But one time, once Colin and I were both college-aged, you forced us all to go have a family portrait taken when we were both home on holiday. You dragged our groaning, bitching bodies over to the grade school you work at, and we sat and sat and sat, and finally it was our turn.
And it was one of those typical portrait photographers, those tired, cheesy guys who work assembly-line photo shoots. And he was referring to us in that third-person way that photo guys do that gets you pissed off — “All right, and let’s have older brother stand here, and younger brother, put your hand there, and mom, let’s turn our head a little bit, and dad, you stand up nice and straight in the back.”
And Colin blurted out really loudly in a sing-song voice, “THAT’s not our dad! Tee-hee!”
And you got it. You broke out into loud laughter, just like the three of us usually do. And the four of us all sat there, laughing riotously at the poor, dumb, confused photographer.
