first, I thought it was my father because he helped us move up to New York. But then I realized he just wanted me out of the house, and did everything in his power to move that process along as quickly as possible. Then I thought it was some of the people who sent me letters on my birthday, like Laura Stine and Tom Densmore. But then I realized that Laura only did it so that I would send her a letter on her birthday, and Tom just likes to write letters: it doesn't matter to who or why. The man is a letter writing machine.
Then, finally, this past weekend, the answer to who loves me most was answered. Mike and Pat Bertha had their father drive them all the way from good ol' Downingtown, PA to Mount Kisco, New York just to visit their dear old friends, Jacqui and Jon.
We hung out at the house, retelling old stories and experiencing new ones. We debated books movies and TV. We had some drinks and food: frozen quesadillas, Ellios pizza, and the best beers money can buy. I offered Pat a beer, but he reminded me that he was under the legal age of twenty-one to consume alcohol, so he just drank apple juice.
I knew the Bertha boys loved Jacqui and I very much, but to think they would travel all that way just to see us for a few hours was really great. It had nothing to do with the fact that their grandparents live twenty minutes away and that Mr. and Mrs. Bertha made them come up, like they do every year around this time.
I worked very hard looking for pictures of the Bertha boys together. I must have looked through half a dozen facebook pictures. After failing in my search, I decided to open up Paint and try my hand at a little photoshopping. However, once Pat read this post, he found a great picture of all three of us hanging out at Penn State.
My dad called me today and said, "Listen, I do love you, but next time you need to move, why don't you call the Bertha boys instead of me."
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