My oldest brother is someone who's always expected perfection, from himself & others. In his sixties, he mused about what our parents might have done that resulted in such an over-demanding expection, or perhaps it was a teacher he trusted & let him down.
"Why, you were that way since birth," I responded.
He was not amused. Especially being fourteen years my elder, so how would I know what he was like as a babe? He expressed just that - what an absurd thing for me to say.
"Oh, I've always known that," was my explanation. "One of Mom's favorite tales to tell was of your first words."
"Well, I don't see any connection," Peter snipped.
Mom was worried about Peter, her first born. He was almost three & still hadn't spoken a word. This was back in the 1930s, before talk about childhood development & proper states of growth, but he was old enough for her to be concerned. She was considering taking him to the pediatrician when IT finally happened - he spoke!
The two of them were in the apartment at the top of the Alden house at Alden Road & Cherry Lane (now John & Lori's). Off in the distance, a train's steam whistle (pre-diesel & electric) sounded at a crossing.
Peter, who was near a window, looked out & then back at his mother, then perfectly enuciated his first words - 'Fox Chase."
Not a peep, and then "Fox Chase," one of the stops on the Newtown-Philadelphia Line.
Yeah, I'd say perfection (and quite a bit of showmanship) was in my bro since birth.
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