Bad Things I Learned From My Cousin
He was a year older but 10 years more sophisticated.
Asbury Park, New Jersey is my home town. I spent my first 18 years there, a good half of them under the influence of my cousin Kit. He was a year older and eons wiser in the ways of the world.
Or, at least, I thought so at the time.
My mother and Kit’s mother (my aunt) were transplanted Vermonters. They lived across the street from each other with our families and were inseparable.
By virtue of our mother’s sisterhood and the close proximity of our houses, Kit and I spent the majority of our free time with each other. Every once in a while we’d let his little brother hang with us but we avoided doing so whenever possible.
I had a brother six years older who didn’t like keeping company with us. He palled around with Bobby Healy, a next door neighbor his age.
Shopping with our mothers
Kit’s little brother was in a church afternoon pre school program.
Kit and I went to Oakhurst elementry in the mornings.
Much like the boa who swallowed the pig; the inflated numbers of post WWII baby boomers eligible to attend the local elementary school was far greater than the room available…
