Mickey the Martian

My sister's youngest son was different.

From the time he was born he was born he loved music. The best part of that is he loved the same type of music I listened to.

Often we got together just to listen and dance. Everyone else would retreat to a different room for us. 

One of my favorite days involved him. He had a little cardboard guitar. He gave me to pencils to use as drumsticks. We listened and played and danced and played air instruments for a long time. It was glorious.

My nephew had one problem. Or maybe it was ours. He did not speak English.

He spoke to us. It was gibberish. Of course we always answered him just like we did any of the babies in the family. They eventually learned to speak with us though.

It became a family joke that with Mickey by mistake we got a baby from Mars and they got ours.

One day when he was about three or four years old that little light bulb lit up above his head. He had always understood what we were saying. The light bulb made him realize that he needed to speak the same language as we did.

I am happy to say that he grew up to be successful and speaking English. He has two beautiful daughters. They both speak English.