Brothers and Sisters

My father had five sons and four daughters. Out of all his daughters I was the pretty one. While I’m not saying they were ugly, they were no Beauty Queens either. In their prime however, they were attractive enough to snag husbands, get married and have children. That was the norm. Only those born with two heads it seems, missed out on marrying after high school. In some cultures a prospective husband or his family had to pay a sometimes steep bride price to a young girl’s family in order to marry their daughter.

My father gave his brides away.

At the corner of 13th and Mitchell Streets – at the divergence or start of West Forest Home Avenue; in the little triangle formed by said streets, stood a cluster of Bridal Shoppes and a couple of tuxedo rental places. The tuxedos were rentals because you can only hang a man once.

There is a Life Lesson or two to be learned from all this, so pay attention: Everyone has a PRIME; everyone. No matter who you are, the prime of your life is that time of your life when you reach the peak of your physical strength, health, vitality and physical attractiveness – and yes, beauty. Half of life is growth and the other decay; and your prime passes quickly away. So, when it comes to such things as the institution of marriage or child bearing, one must strike while the iron is hot.

Too often people err in assessing their prime. They compare their prime with that of others; and in so doing their self-esteem can take a terrible beating. Ambitious young women put off getting married; go to college and, by the time they finish Law or Medical School they are already well past their prime; already saggy and baggy, even a little wrinkled, without a single man in sight.

It is said that a woman’s face is her fortune. When it comes to marriage there is an essential difference between a brother and a sister, namely: A sister can marry a man with money, but a brother, married or not, has to be a man with money. I could sit them all down and explain it a hundred times over, but they still wouldn’t get it. They never will.

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About The Twentieth Man

Age 67
This entry was posted in Economics, Expository Writing, For Feminists, Humor, Observations, Personal History, Plain English and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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