Blast from the Past

Here's a find that blasted me back to the past: an email from my Mom I haven't seen in more than 20 years, written right after she first read Mom's Cancer.

When I set up Mom's Cancer as a webcomic, the domain came with a free email address that I used for a brief time before switching to another. I was doing some Internet archaeology yesterday when I found that forgotten email account, which still has 68 emails from mid-2004 sitting in it, including hers. 

Other emails are from friends, some who are still friends (Hi, Nancy!) and a couple who are dead (RIP Ronniecat). Some are from journalists asking for interviews, others from readers sharing their own cancer experiences. They comprise a fragmentary time capsule of the weeks when Mom's Cancer began to catch on and go viral that really takes me back. 

These emails are a gift, especially Mom's but also the others, particularly since I lost most of my pre-2017 email archives in our fire (long story, suffice to say they weren't recoverable). What a terrific time machine!

250 Words on Twins

[I try to start my day writing 250 words on anything. I’ll post one every Tuesday until I run out of good ones.]

My adult daughters are identical twins, and I apologize to them for mentioning it.

My wife Karen and I have standard answers to the usual questions. Yes, we can tell them apart—most of the time. Having two kids at once felt more than twice as hard when they were babies but might have been easier later. Etc.

Our girls have their own standard answers to the usual questions. Telepathy? No.* Different interests? Yes. Same taste in food? No. Same friends? Some. However, they can’t answer “What’s it like?” because they have nothing to compare it to.

We seldom dressed them alike and, when they were old enough to dress themselves, “seldom” became “never.” They rarely pretended to be each other. They style their hair differently. One’s left-handed, the other’s right-handed. 

They also drew so much attention when they were adorable blonde toddlers that today any notice paid to “the twin thing” makes them squirm in anguish. 

Hence my apology.

Most of the time I don’t really think about it, but once in a while I’ll just sit across the room gazing at them in amazement and think, “Huh! Twins! Damn!” 

I also believe they sometimes enjoy it. First, for a sibling bond closer than most of us will ever experience. Second, for the befuddlement on people’s faces when they figure it out, particularly if it’s someone like a long-time acquaintance who didn’t know.  

I imagine it’s a bit like being able to flex a little superpower whenever you want.

*Not that they'll admit to, anyway.

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