Last week, on FirstNews, we got into a discussion of what birth-years were included in the designation "Baby Boomer." At first, my extremely young co-workers, Donna Pitman and Jere Gish, were doubtful that I fell into that generation. Now, that could be taken as a compliment. "Oh, you're much too young to be in that group." But, I suspect it really meant "You certainly look old for being in Generation X!" I explained that, according to most sources, Baby Boomers were born between 1946 and 1964. So, I make it with a few years to spare. Mr. Gish pointed out that it was "weird" to think his parents...I said HIS PARENTS!...and I were in the same generation. Thanks, Jere. My oldest brother is about the age of Jere's mommy and daddy. I have nieces and nephews older than Jere and Donna. For that matter, I also have ties and underwear older than Jere and Donna. Let me make it clear: I have no malice toward my talented associates due to their tender ages. They are young and vital and energetic and that's just fine by me. But, do they also have to be so darn skinny? So, to summarize: Age discrepancy between us=no malice. Weight/fitness discrepancy between us=malice.

The truth is that my in-laws are only a little older than my oldest brother. From youngest to oldest in my family is a 13 year spread so that adds to the confusion a bit. In fact, it was my oldest brother's birthday over this past weekend. As I pointed out to Randy in his card and when I phoned him, it was his last in the 50s! He is now, officially, in his 60th year! He loved having me call and point that out.

Even though there is more than a decade separating us, when I was little, he was my ally. For my mom, he and my brothers were built-in baby sitters. I remember especially liking it when Randy would be given the job of putting me down for a nap...which my mom had him do until I was well into my teens just to keep me out from underfoot. Anyway, when I was a toddler, Randy would put me in my bed and, being a good brother, sit in a chair until I fell asleep. The great part was that usually he'd fall asleep and I'd get up and play.

Now, I've mentioned Randy before in this space: He's the one with excessive body hair brought on, perhaps, by being given too much fish oil as a baby. He's the one who wrestled in high school and always smelled like oranges as he tried to make his weight class. He's the one who, once when the phone rang as we were saying our pre-Sunday dinner prayer, answered by saying "Amen?" He's the one who has said he is so old, he remembers when 3M was only 2M. He's the one who was and is a great dancer as he proved again at a family wedding a couple years back when he wanted to keep going as the youngsters were fading fast. He's the one who earned some extra money in college by being a clown and, from time to time, let his little brother become his mini-me-in-mayhem. (Making a total fool of myself in public was great preparation for being a TV weatherman.) He's the one who tooled around Wisconsin in a Corvair looking like he really should have been picking up Frankie, Annette and maybe, even, Elvis, for a day of fun and sun on some California beach.

Randy got his college degree in business administration but I think his true calling may have been in teaching. He has always had an incredible amount of patience and compassion. When I was little I had what they used to call a "Lazy L." Now, it wasn't a formal diagnosis or anything but, for example, when I'd say the word "milk" it came out closer to "meehhhwwwk." Sort of like a Holstein who's had one too many egg-nogs at Christmas. As you may have guessed, not saying the word "milk" clearly, when you are from America's Dairyland, could have been a major embarrassment. It wasn't just that word. Really, any work with an "L" in it was problematic. Basically, someone with a Lazy L doesn't quite push his tongue all the way to the back of his front teeth when making that sound. The farther back on the roof of your mouth your tongue lands, the lazier the "L." In my case, there were times my "L" was so lazy that when I'd try to say something like "I'd like malted milk for lunch, please" my "L" was actually asleep in a hammock outside. Well, Randy, took note and worked with me on getting it corrected. Coincidentally, Tom Brokaw went through his entire career with a Lazy L. His was much more pronounced than mine. I remember once he read a story about "lovely llamas living in Guatemala" and his head nearly exploded. Just think, if Randy had never helped me wake the "L" up, I could've been a network anchorman!

I remember, as a little kid, just thinking my brother Randy was a pretty cool guy. He still is. There are lots of reasons to admire him. He's kind and calm and easy-going. He's a great father and grandfather. He's sincere and good-hearted. He's also, for me personally, convenient. By that I mean that whenever Jere Gish and Donna Pitman express amazement about how old I am, how I'm in that Baby Boomer group, I can point to my brother and say, "Well, at least I'm not that old!" So, from my much younger end of the Baby Boomer Generation I am hollering...loudly...via this new-fangled interweb deal to Randy's much older end(actually, all of Randy is older, not just his end)...HAPPY BIRTHDAY!