brothers

Seeing red

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‘Sorry I haven’t posted in a while. But I have a couple of good reasons why.’

I’m sure you’ve all been on tenterhooks wondering where I’ve been and/or why I haven’t been regaling you with stories about memories and/or minutiae.

Nah. You have lives.

Well, me too. And, lately, my life has been heating up considerably.

Here’s JPWL. Or at least part of him. Only a few hours old, and he already gets a grip on the world

Say hello to John Ptolemy Whitmore Leakos, henceforth to be known as Junior Baby. (Mr. Baby is still “Mr. Baby”. I tried “Mr. Boy”, but it just didn’t stick. Maybe when he’s six. Or sixteen.)

Here’s Mr. Baby showing us his little brother:

So far, so good. We’ll see.

Speaking of seeing, I thought I was seeing double when I got a gander at the fresh baby. Not only do they both have red hair — which is remarkable because neither of their parents have red hair — but they resemble each other very much indeed. Even more than regular run-of-the-mill babies do.

That’s Mr. Baby in the photo — at the same age as Junior Baby, stage left

When I saw this picture, I said these two were “the Model T of babies”, to which my Oldest Younger Brother Scott replied, “with hair in any color. As long as it’s red.” I had to explain this cultural reference to The Child. If you too are young enough to need some splainin’, congratulations. And here you go: Henry Ford quote explained.

The source of the red hair? Nah. She’s not actually related to them. Though you sure can’t tell from this picture

Okay. Confession time. I said I had a “couple of good reasons” why I had not posted lately. One reason is, in fact, the new baby. The other is not, in fact, the extant baby. (Though he does take up a lot of mind space.)

The other reason is the French Open, otherwise known as Roland Garros. (It is played on red clay…so that’s another reason I’m “seeing red.”)

Seeing red, tennis-style

I won’t bore you with tennis trivia. Though, suffice it to say, I know a heck of a lot of it. And I don’t even play tennis. I just happen to adore it. Tennis is like physical chess — it takes brains plus brawn. It also takes a heck of a lot of time to watch.

Timing is perfect, though. The men’s final is this weekend, which means I will be able to devote full and absolute attention to those red-headed babies when we see them in person in a couple of weeks.

Till then, I’m feasting my eyes on scenes like this:

Kalinskya lost. But I won. I get tennis to watch and babies to squeeze

And yes, of course, like this.

Mr. Baby reading to Junior B

New York City. June 2026

Friends, Romans, Countrymen: Lend me your ears

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‘And I’ll show you how to make Corn Salad’

“Leftover corn? What’s that?” Would be what any member of the Henry Clan would say if you offered to share this recipe.

Because, when I was growing up, there simply wasn’t any corn left over after we were done attacking a big ole platter of ears.

Each of us could pack away more than one could imagine a normal child could consume. But it was my Oldest Younger Brother Scott who was the Corn Champion. His capacity for corn was so prodigious that my Grampa Peterson said Scott’s middle name should be “Sweet Corn”, and actually used to refer to him—in the summertime, anyway, when the corn was at its peak and Scott would eat the most—as “Scott Sweet-Corn Henry”.

The guy who dubbed my brother “Scott Sweet-Corn Henry”, my beloved pipe-smoking Grampa P

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‘Where do you keep your cake?’

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‘Questions for my Oldest Younger Brother on his Day’

Those of you who are my Devoted Readers (bless your hearts) know by now that I like to speak softly and poke fun at my Family with a big stick. Today, because it’s your birthday, it’s your turn, King Tut (er, Scott).

It’s been a long time since you and I fought over who got the top bunk. (Yes, Scott was my first Roommate of the Opposite Sex.) And a long time, even, since you and I smuggled a motorcycle into a motel room. (I see a pattern of co-habitation here. If you readers are curious and/or titillated, you can check out that story here.)

But, back to you and your birthday. And those questions.

1. Did you recover fully from having watermelon ‘jammed down your throat’? See, when Scott was just a tyke, he, like many small children, was not into trying new, unfamiliar, or weird-looking foods. He thought that red food — tomatoes, watermelon — looked particularly unappetizing. Our less-than-patient father got particularly exasperated one hot suppertime, and told Scott to ‘try that delicious watermelon right now, or I’ll jam it down your throat’. Not sure I’d recommend this technique to some of you New Parents, but hey, it worked. Continue reading