When I was a little girl riding my bike over the adobe hills on the outskirts of Montrose, Colorado, and throwing dry ice bombs into the canal behind the house across the street, and trespassing into various fields in the name of bedlam, my Uncle Chester was busy being a ROCKET SCIENTIST at NASA. No matter what stupidity you read here, let it be known that there is actual intelligence in the Parsons genes.
We lived thousands of miles apart, and saw each other every couple of years before he died in 1991. I only have a few memories of him from real life, from real interaction – but one thing is for sure: Uncle Chester wore The Glasses.
You know the ones.
The ones that the scientists wore in “Apollo 13.”
The ones that Squints wore in “The Sandlot.”
And… the ones that the cool kids are apparently wearing now?
Every time I see some hipster in The Glasses, I have to chuckle, and then kind of cringe. Because if by being related to Uncle Chester I claim that I have a fighting chance at brilliance, then I have to admit that one day, I, too, might look like Buddy Holly.
Never rule anything out.
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Mom’s surgery went really well last night – thank you for all of your well wishes and prayers.