Montco Mommy
Oh, Brother
Our Montco Mommy gets maudlin over her little brother's nuptials.
I met Jude Harter on the back of my dad’s pickup truck. He was all of about 6, nearly the age of my son now. I eyed him up and down, and within minutes decided to dub him “Jude Farter.” If it helps to explain it, I was only 8, but this freckled tot on my dad’s truck was going to soon become my baby brother. His mom married my dad, and we were bonded ever since. His life as my brother didn’t get much easier from there. We nearly killed our dog sledding down School Street hill, and then our neighbor by mixing potions of cleaning solution and perfume. No matter what, one thing was clear to me—he was my brother. In our family, words like “step” or “half” have totally dissolved. Instead, we are who we are, and we love who we love, and that …
