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My middle brother has always been charmed. He was a natural athlete seemingly at birth, a talented artist barely out of babyhood, and never experienced those unattractively awkward physical stages. My siblings and I look enough alike to tell we came from the same mold, but somehow Todd got it just right from the beginning. He is now a world-traveling, multilingual, published author, but he started out as the little brother who still wasn’t a sister but was pretty darn cute. When he was born, my oldest younger brother and I were at my grandparents’ house in Reseda. My mom wanted all of us to get started on a positive note, so she tucked a present for each of us to open each day she was gone into our suitcase. I don’t recall what any of them were but I do remember thinking that any baby who came bearing gifts couldn’t be all bad. Todd came to a household fixated on the written word, so it’s no surprise he was an early reader, but it is a bit surprising that he chose a story about an underachiever as his first independently read book. In Jean Bethell’s The Clumsy Cowboy, Clyde can’t stay on his horse, walk in cowboy boots, or earn the respect of the townsfolk. Fortunately for the sad little cowpoke, he finds Daisy the cow and they are best friends before you can say “catch the bank robbers.” I think Todd liked seeing how the other half live.



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