Isn't it funny the stories you hear about when you were a child? You never know if what you remember is your own personal memory or the memory that you've constructed having heard other people tell a story about you for decades.
My mother has one about our family in church one Sunday. Bob Bridges, the former pastor at Oak Grove Methodist, the church we grew up in, used to take a break during his sermons for all the children to come to the altar to chat with him. And this Sunday, the Sunday before Valentine's, he asked, "Does any of you know what holiday happens this week?" My hand shot up, he called upon me, and I shouted to the congregation, "It's my brother Gray's birthday!" The congregation chuckled as Bob smiled and took my response in stride. He called upon another kid who gave the answer he was looking for and continued along his planned course of discussing this week's assignment of expressing kindness and love.
As I recall it, my mom always told me that my brother sank in the pew, embarrassed at his loud, eager little sister. Not much changes, I guess. Happy birthday, Gray! Love you!
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