Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Ode to the St. Patty Fatty

Bucky, Frip, Frippy, Buckingham... You came into this world on St. Patricks Day in the year of our Lord, 1986. You weighed a kingly 9 pounds (God bless you JB) and your arrival was captured by none other than your own father, Dean "shutterbug" Brdlik who was sitting posterior to mom, snapping away on his Nikon as you were making your great exodus. We still have those pictures if you're ever interested in stabbing your own eyeballs with a fork.

Dad was thrilled that you were a boy. We all were. At least, I think I was. Not sure but I can envision myself hands clasped behind my back, pacing the shiny hospital floors, eyes scanning my immediate surroundings for things that could muffle a cry or just breathing in general. I enjoyed my status as The Baby for those few years. But, my heart was big. I let you in.

You grew in stature and most notably in head size and circumference. You resembled the leaning tower of Pisa as you waddled around in your nappies.

I think Dr. Seuss might have had this to say about your toddler noggin:

Whether he went here or there or anywhere
His bulbous balloon was sure to lead
Hop, skip, shuffle, popple
Plum down to the ground he'd topple
Oh, the crashing and bumping, ruckus and clunking!
A mother laments and wails 'til she's spent
"Why can't you stand straight and tall as a pine?
Why must your head be so large by design?"
Of all the magnanimous monstrosities to be had
A head so large was bad for the lad
Shimity lou and skitty do da
I'll keep my day job and continue to blog
We have countless home videos of you running down sidewalks and into *traffic, chasing after "vroom-vrooms" which consisted of motorcycles and cars, but mainly you loved tractors, especially Kubotas. I have this engraved image of you in my mind sitting in a tractor seat, pot belly sticking out of your waistband, sucking on your thumb, happy as a clam.  You loved big machinery.

Now you're a man and could easily grind me into a fine pulp-mist, but you don't and I really, really like that about you.  I don't just speak for myself when I say that I am very proud of the man you have become and am very excited to see what is in store for you, big-little brother.

Happy Birthday to you, Bucky. I love you.

*Dad was awarded "Father of the Year."


  1. I have a correction: Clinto weighed 8lbs. 10ozs. I know this because I wrote it on the back of his standard issue, hospital bassinet photo that mom gave me after he was born. I still have that photo. The one in which he was SO dark, that even my 3rd grade self vowed to keep stricter tabs on mom at mailtime. Happy Birthday, Clint! We are so proud of you. Also, can I still call you Clinto-Bippo-Sonny-Bono when you graduate from the AFA? No? Shoot.


  2. Vroom vrooms!!! OMGsh I forgot about that word!! Amanda you need to put that picture of him with his pot belly piggedness (i envented a word!!) on here!!!! Auh our little brother, we have raised him well sisters.....and a might good job we have done.

  3. thanks for visiting my bloggy-blog...yours is pretty great putting it in my google reader right this very moment!

  4. And I got to babysit you on the night that Clinto Bippo came into the world. And I totally forgot about his little Vietnamese pig pot belly.