Forty years ago, HBO was a relatively new service. They only had a handful of movies that they played over and over again. On 12/12/1981 they must have played the Steven Spileberg masterpiece 1941 a thousand times.
Mani & Papa were watching us all day, and they allowed it. Papa was not big on ratings. He took me to Rambo in grade school, a decision of which I approve. He also let us ride around downtown Atlanta in the back of his pickup truck, a decision of which I do not approve. I wrapped that truck around a tree at age 12 or so with Papa riding shotgun. His head hit the windshield, but fortunately he did not fly through it.
I remember 12/12/1981 so well because that's the day my youngest brother was born. I don't know the story behind his name, but I know he is special.
I love you, Paul. Happy birthday. I am so proud to be your big brother.
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