28 Chicken Street (odd childhood 3)
My aunt sends my brother and I a box of pears every year for Christmas. I’m not really a pear guy. They have an odd texture and they taste weird. Actually they taste and feel like pears which is fine but I always look at them as weird apples and am disappointed when they don’t taste like apples. I eat them but… Anyhow, when my brother came over around New Years he left an unwanted pear here and I wanted to get back at him so I smooshed it up a little bit and mailed it back to him. The return address on the giant box I put it in was “28 Chicken Street”. Now that address has some history to us. When we were little kids, we moved to West Keansburg from Bayonne. Our parents wanted us to memorize our address in case we got lost, 130 Essex Avenue, West Keansburg. My brother who’s a wise ass refused to say the correct address and instead insisted that he lived at 28 Chicken Street. My parents were pissed and my brother kept it up, 28 Chicken Street, 28 Chicken Street. They sat him at the kitchen table and in what was reminiscent of a police interrogation, “Where do you live?, Where do you Live?!”. By this time I think my brother actually forgot where we lived and just knew 28 Chicken Street. It was a long night. I’m expecting a rotten pear in an elaborate package for my birthday.