The Stubborn Gene

My Grandpa Covert was a sweet man. He affectionally called me “Plugger” from as early as I can remember. I didn’t have to walk much at my grandparent’s house, as Grandpa loved to carry me around and show me things. Things like chocolate fudge cookies that he would sneak out of Grandma’s cookie jar. I hold him responsible for my wicked sweet tooth!

Grandpa had a stubborn streak, though. He’d set his mind on something, and there was no way in God’s green earth that you were going to get him to change his mind.

My dad inherited that gene. The Stubborn gene. He has passed it on to my brother.

My brother and I are about 8 years apart. I was adopted. He was a SURPRISE! But he got the gene. And it has ahold of him tightly and won’t let go.

When you have a headache for two weeks straight, you go to the doctor. When the doctor is concerned and wants to send you for an MRI, you don’t argue, you GO!

Nope. Don’t need the thing. Costs too much. It will go away on its own, and if it doesn’t, oh well.

Brothers. It doesn’t matter if you are ten or fifty years old. Sometimes they just need a good whacking!

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