My parents had way too many kids. Eight because they were Catholic in the 1960's...they might have had more until my mother finally discovered that we had a living room couch.
Of the eight, I was one of the "Four Girls." Because my parents thought it would be wicked cute to give all of us girls names that began with the letter "J.", this is how my dad would refer to us when he needed to speak to anyone of us individually if we might have POSSIBLY done something wrong: "JoanneJanetJoyceJulie...Or whatever the Hell your name is! My sister Jean was exempt, because she was close in age and thus a kindred spirit to the Holy Patron Saint Michael of The Sacred Church Of Five Howard Road. Or so she was told until she said "Huh? What's so fucking great about Michael? I had to tell HIM there was no such thing as Santa Clause!"
Not that any of us Four Girls JoanneJanetJoyceJulie did anything WRONG, by the way. No sireeee. When SOMEONE sprayed my dad Bemis's shaving cream all over the closet and he was so pissed and we were scared and we were never scared of him, it wasn't ME. It was Richard. It was always Richard. But if it wasn't Richard, it was Joanne. Because who can get mad at Joanne?
Virtually all of my friends grew up in big families, and we all have the same advice to anyone getting all Brady Bunch or Kennedy nostalgic on us. Birth control is awesome. And if that doesn't happen and someone in your undoes something really stupid to piss your parents' off, just blame it on my brother Richard. Because he probably did it. I know it wasn't ME.
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