My older brother works too much. He has a big house. I suspect he re-mortgaged it during the last 10 years. His son goes to an Ivy League school. His education is an investment, which is why my brother hit the roof, when I told him that Franka was visiting New York to see the country-western phenom Taylor Swift on SNL. Pissed at Franka because his grades were not great and pissed at me for being a bad influence.

I always thought that was my best attribute for the young.

“I’m not blaming you, but Franka thinks he’s getting into medical school with a B in biology.” My brother was in his office. It was Saturday. He had plans to work on Sunday. “I’m not here for my health. And I’m not really angry at you. Franka’s a big boy. He makes his own decisions, but I have to pay for them.”

He mentioned how much it cost to attend an Ivy League school. I could live very well on the tuition. I understood my brother’s temper tantrum. I support two families. I eat left-over. More than twice a week.

“Franka has to do better in science.” Bs were not good enough.

“we’ll see how he does this semester.” My brother buried himself under case files and I went to Durgin Park for lunch. I called Franka and told him about the visit to his father.

“Uncle Bubba, don’t worry. I’m doing fine.” He’s 21. Most of his life is before him. My territory diminishes every day. Then again I didn’t do well in school. It does take its toll.

Of course Franka could not study at all and hope to pass the

More th