The Last Piece of Pizza

My brother Ken will turn 50 in a few days. I was asked to share a favorite memory. Most of my memories involve either some sort of skirmish, someone getting in trouble or something wildly inappropriate. Or likely all of the aforementioned as with the first one that popped into my head.

The Last Piece of Pizza

One of our favorite takeout meals growing up was pizza. Back in the day, we mostly ate home-cooked meals. When we were lucky enough to have pizza for dinner, the kids in our family ate quickly, consuming as much pie as possible to make sure we got our fair share.

On one of these occasions, there was one piece left. Ken and I both dove for it. I was a few seconds quicker.

I had just put the last piece of pizza on my dinner plate when my brother grabbed for it. He tried to wrestle the dish from me, twisting the fingers on my left hand. The object of desire fell to the floor. At this point, I let go of the plate to tend to my aching hand.

As I walked away, my brother took the dish ( Corelle, oven-safe, heavy-duty) and flung it like a Frisbee. The plate bounced off my arm and landed on the kitchen counter completely unscathed.

Unlike my arm that was left with a diagonal-line bruise. And one of the fingers on the wrenched hand suffered a fractured joint. The knuckle never quite healed properly leaving me a souvenir from the event.

And a charming story to share!

Happy Birthday Ken!