My brother called me tonight at about 10 p.m., asking me if the power was out at my place. Apparently his is out in Chinatown, as is the power in the surrounding buildings. He doesn’t know why. He and my sister-in-law live in a huge complex near H Street and Massachusetts Avenue NW (that has, I might add, a kick-a&$ rooftop pool). I live less than two miles away.
My brother: “Do you have power?”
Me: “Sure do.” [Laid out comfortably on the couch with a fleece blanket around me.]
Him: “Ok, well have fun enjoying the light while we sit here in the dark.”
Me: “I will. I’m watching ‘Rescue Me.’ I’m addicted to it.”
Him: “That’s great.” [A few more smart-a&$ comments.]
Me: “Ok, well, call me if you want to sleep here.”
Him: “I think our bed works.”
Then, I couldn’t help but think about my mom, who marvels at how my brother knew the answer to a joke when he was about three years old (right mom?). I’ve heard this story about ten trillion times because it showed how precocious my brother was (and my mom likes to repeat stories). This is also when I roll my eyes and ask about what I did when I was young that made me precocious (I’m not competitive, what?).
But my proud mom tells the story that she* would ask him: “Where was Mickey Mouse when the lights went out?”
And my brother as a little blond boy answered: “In the dark.”
(*I fully expect to be corrected on this story, because it might have been someone at the daycare center.)