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My little sister was born nearly six years, to the day, after me. My mom willed her birth back, while in labor, to October 6th so I wouldn't have to share my birthday with anyone, nor would my sister. That meant that 6 years ago this weekend, I was walking down the aisle in my high school fieldhouse receiving my diploma from Brighton High School. It also means this past weekend my little sister became the last Wassel to attend BHS.

Because of Brighton's growth in the past few years, the graduation ceremony needed to change from the football field/fieldhouse to a larger, more suitable arena. So they picked... well, an arena. A poorly planned, poorly laid out arena. I won't say where it was but I will say it's on the campus just EAST of MICHIGAN's Ann Arbor dwelling. Anyways, this place was a maze of stairs, seats, people... making life for my hobbled mother THAT much tougher. After fighting the crowds, saying yo to Eric and Heather, waiting for The Girl to FINALLY arrive, we settled into our seats for the 3 hour long ceremony — highlighted with a crazy speech by a Mrs. Cook. When I say crazy, I mean, CRAZY. Like I'm not sure she was aware of the fact there was a mic in front of her so, instead, she decided to just yell to the people in the back of the arena then go on incoherently rambling about life or something that I know ended in "May the force be with you!" Yikes... But, otherwise my little sister is not so little anymore. She's a full-blown graduate. Double yikes. So congrats little sis, I guess and also congrats on getting Mom to finally were green... Against her will... With a stupid "State" below the school name you SHOULD be attending. But whatever, we'll have years of arguments on this one...

Changing gears completely, what's better than getting drunk with your best friends? How about getting drunk with your best friends and then going to a Tigers game? Saturday was that day. We met at a bar. We drank. We drank. Howell was drunk before we left. We piled 14 of us into a van we rented. We drank. We stopped in an alley in the Deeeeetroit ghetto to pee. We got to the game an inning late. We drank. We (Eric) was the loud guy in the back the stadium making the witty puns like "ROTO-REUTER!" and "POLONCO BALONCO!" We drank. We (The Girl and I) got a nice shower from Eric's, one, hot dog and, two, saliva. We drank. We tried to start "The Wave." We failed. We tried again. We failed. We drank. We tried again. We failed. We recruited two 10 year olds to help start "The Wave." We failed. "The Wave" was started... not by us. Thus, we drank in depression. We (the Tigers) won. We drank... warm beer. We watched fireworks. We left. We piled back into the van to go back to the bar. Matt barrel rolled out of the van and into the women’s room, falsely thinking it was the men's room... twice. We drank. We left the bar. The Girl slept. I let her... then kissed her forehead. We got home after a Tigers win and have many, many more stories. As is usually the case with those boys.

Oh, and Happy Father's Day father! You're pretty great too!

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#1 Eric

Those were witty comments, I wish I could remember making them...and how did we, and by "we" I mean "I," not get kicked out of that game...see ya in 2 days.

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