Super Luigi Bros

To be honest, I always thought Luigi was the lesser of the brothers. And until the day my oldest son became obsessed with Mario Kart, he probably was, but that day is no more. It is the Luigi Bros in my household as far as my two sons are concerned. And oh the that drama ensued before I told them they could both be Luigi in their imagination orchestrated races my middle son puts on. Races he usually wins, another point of contention. ‘If you’re not first you’re last’ in both my sons eyes, although they’re learning to lose with grace, slowly, but still learning. One can hope.

So when when the season of disguises started creeping up on us I asked both my boys what they wanted to be, the monkey still cannot answer for himself even with all his leaps and bounds in development so I didn’t bother asking his thoughts, and almost before I finished my question they hollered back, “LUIGI!” with wide-eyed frenzy. My wife with all the diplomacy she could muster (she’s very good at it) started to mediate before something akin to World War III began. Though as a preemptive strike to long drawn out negotiations on who would give up their stake I intervened and said, “Why not, let them be the Luigi Bros.” Seriously, the very idea of it amused me to no end, and my wife figured: why not, if they didn’t mind neither would we.

The thing I find most amusing is how different my sons are and yet how very much alike they tend to be. My own brother and I were much the same. Even in looks, although I have never been able to truly see it (I wouldn’t be surprised if Dean and Nate claim the same thing in the years to come), virtually everyone we meet knows we are brothers. And when I’d ask them how they knew, they’d look at me as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world and tell me that we look so much alike. I admit, we are nearly identical in multifarious ways (albeit I am so much prettier) as much as we are different. It must be the older-younger sibling cliché: my older brother is the logical, serious one and I being the younger middle child am the more creative and artistic one. We got along famously at times and others we’re worse then oil and water. For instance, the apple incident where he was the cause of my hospital trip and chin stitches, and well, the underwater karate episode wherein I was “allegedly” the reason he got water in his lungs and spent some time in the hospital himself. We’ve had our downtimes as brothers and on the other hand we’ve always been there for each other. Even if he was annoying when he helped me move last.

Nate and Dean are brothers to the core. They, like their progenitors, can fight like cats and dogs. If one has a toy and is enjoying said toy, the other must have that toy and no other. And yet at the same time I’ve seen them be abundantly generous and altogether self-sacrificing with one another. I’ve witnessed how much they love being together and noticed if we separate them for a short time, such as taking different cars, they both require constant updates on the other’s whereabouts. You’d think they were twins. To boot, like most twins, they’re also as different as oil and water. Dean is certainly the thinker, the nurturer. While Nate is the little ball of energy always on the go, imaginative and impulsive. In addition and fairly unexpected, Dean is the fearless one in social settings while Nate takes a more reticent approach to initial social situations. Many times I’ve seen Dean just walk up to complete strangers and introduce himself and sit right down all the while continuing to engage his quarry. At the same communal gathering, Nate will test the waters before he lets his guard down.

In this whirlwind of mutual brotherhood I’ve often wondered where our newest monkey would fit in. Could he enter such a tightly knitted bond of brotherhood and make a niche for himself? Would they see him as the annoyance that always took up mommy and daddy’s time? My wife and I discussed the various storylines thoroughly, trying to figure out where our little men would be with the new arrival and how they’d wade in the unfamiliar. We should of known better, our Super Luigi Bros who can fight so fiercely for that motorcycle toy or the win in their latest pretend race both love just as fiercely. Davin is the third musketeer they are extremely anxious to play with. Already, they include him in a thousand ways even though, at the moment, he has no idea the part he’s playing in their world.

My wife once wrote: “My first son made me a mother and challenged my ability to love unconditionally through hours of screaming. My second son made me strong and gave me the courage to take the hard road. My third son has brought me peace and completion. I am blessed to have three boys who fill my world with Love (Dean), Joy (Nate) and Peace (Davin).” And while there are a world of stories in that asseveration. The point is, my three sons are a blessing to us and to each other, they all bring something unique to our family and it does my heart good to know that even though we are so different in our dispositions, we’re all just as much alike in heart.

Not to mention, the Super Luigi Bros may have a Mario someday, in due course, the monkey has yet to pick a sponsor.

That is all.

Slutty Davis?

I bought both of my young pups Luigi costumes for the upcoming holiday. Why not Mario? Both of them are obsessed with Luigi, but more on that later. I am giddy with anticipation for this year’s trick or treat extravaganza. They went last year as Thomas the Train characters and the vast haul would have made King Tut proud, indeed, good times were had by all. Although, I cannot say if they truly got it, and I have a feeling they will be much more into this year and so will I. Thus, to truly enjoy our night on the town with the boys, I wanted to join in on the festivities. And in that spirit as my wife and I drove past a discount Halloween shop, the light bulb in my head burst with the obvious and I talked my wife into stopping so I could buy a bit of October cheer. I figured maybe a silly mask or some mickey hands, whatever made my dog’s tail wag.

My everwise and beautiful wife stayed in the car to feed the monkey with our older son and my little ball of energy we call Nate trotted along my side catching my hand as we crossed the parking lot. We entered the store and received the normal friendly spiel from the aberrant, seasonal retail creatures. They chimed in unison, ‘Everything is 20 percent off, let me know if you have any questions.’ And off I went into the glorious land of make-believe in search of the perfect Peter Griffith mask or whatever sparked my interest. The first thing to meet my little guys eyes was the Killer Clown right smack dab in his line of sight and he nervously vocalized his feelings, ‘Not that one Daddy!’ We continued on and he grasped my hand even more as I was a tad oblivious to his nervous plight expecting a Halloween shop to have the obligatory horror and absentmindedly explained to him that this was all pretend and moved him along rather quickly in search of lighter material.

Aisle after aisle we made the trek through a never-ending barrage of limbs and frightening masks, weapons, blood and ghoul. I started to skip several walkways while hearing my poor little man repeat, ‘Not that one! Not that one Daddy! Not that one!’ Nate sounded like a broken record and I could feel his pain, maybe if we skipped to the last aisle they’ll have the funny type masks. Hmm, I don’t see any horror. Oh no, it’s not horror, it’s whore central. And as we trudged through the center of slutville, every type of costume transformed into its predecessor’s floozy twin. My son got very quiet, and I rushed on looking to get to the end of Jezebel’s corridor where I might find redemption in a more jovial section. No such luck, we dead-ended to which I stopped looking through our aisle to the next wondering if this store had anything to offer, and my son finally broke his silence looking at all the scantily clad women and exclaimed, ‘This place is too weird!’ I’d have to give it to him as we made it for the door, he took the words right out of my mouth.

Now, I get the overabundance of horror for this season, while I am still puzzled at that particular store’s lack of humorous ensembles. However, having been to several costume shops, outlets and establishments whom offer this type of seasonal apparel I am baffled at the equality shopping centers are giving to the hooker wear. Wherewithal this may be the Shangri-la habiliment for some, it is not the family oriented getup I was envisioning. For only twenty dollars more you can get any style outfit with one third the material. Won’t Billy and Johnny be so proud to have Mom and Dad play vice squad with them: Sergent Daddy and Mom as the uncover hooker, well, maybe not so covered. In fact, the only option for a woman wanting a “normal” costume is to buy the male version. The craziest part of this phenomenon is the options for younger girls.. Come on, a catholic schoolgirl outfit for nine year olds. Seriously folks, in an age of incidences like Jaycee Dugard’s kidnapping, when a father can be watching his little girl walk to the bus and still be victim of a kidnapping. When a little girl can be walking three blocks to school with an alarm device on her and still be raped and murdered by the neighbor across the street. These are the costumes we want to send our kids out into the night in!?! With Family Watchdog telling us there are offenders lurking around every dark corner, are we really going to dress up our little lambs for the slaughter?

It baffles me that woman fought so hard for their rights, to be taken seriously, to be equal with men and then buy into the philosophy, ‘Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it.’ Did it all start with Celebrity. Was it when Julia Roberts became famous for being the Cinderella prostitute? When women started to look at one of the greatest sex symbols of all time, Marilyn Monroe, and state that they’d rather kill themselves then be as fat as her. When the few strong female characters in cinema have either been there so long they remember the hey-days or are ensconced in Sci-fi and fantasy slaying vampires.

I have nothing against the fairer sex or sex in general, I’m just saying, is that all you want to be known for? My wife is the most beautiful woman alive and yet she’s so much more. I guess, I simply had to stop and look around and exclaim, “This place is too weird!”