We Are Family . . . Really

Since some of you have had questions lately regarding the relationship between Luke and my family, I felt that I needed to explain.

Luke is not blood related to us, but he is our adopted son. It all began several years ago when Luke's biological family disowned him back home. There are many reasons this all came to a head, but I will only list a few.

Most of you are aware that Luke is 6'9" and well, he outgrew their door frame.

Next he shaved his head bald, thinking it would take an inch or two off, but didn't happen. He could no longer fit in any of their vehicles and he had also torn up a few ceiling fans. He began eating anything that didn't eat him first, and they could no longer support his big boy habits. Once he left his spit cup on the coffee table and you guessed it, the old man drank some.

Then, to top that off, he started messing around with more than one woman at a time. I know it's hard to believe, but that's right. At first they thought they could live with it, but then he got too big for his britches and that was all it took.

When he came to us, he was a lonely boy looking for a family to love him no matter what. He was broken and his ego was shot. Although the men in our family are no taller than 6', we decided to make an exception because he is so lovable and hugs us a lot.

AND he agreed to grow some hair. We didn't realize exactly what that would mean until we saw this.

But that's OK, he can't help it. Our hearts went out to him after he explained his sad story and he begged us to take him in and put his picture on our refrigerator.

In order to accomodate him, we made subtle changes in our home, such as labeling all the door frames with a "caution low overhead" sign,

taping toilet paper to the ceiling fans,

stocking our fridge with hot sauce and Dr. Pepper's, and insisting that he furnish his own transportation. We vacuum the bed each morning and use lots of drain cleaner. We don't mind his tabacco habit since we don't drink after him and NO ONE can do anything about the women in his life, so we just let that one go.

We do have to check him whenever he leaves the house to make sure his clothes are ironed and put on right side out. He also has a hard time remembering to zip up, so we have to check that too. Everything is working out fine so far except I think his name is peed into the grass on the front lawn.

I’m Not A Doctor, But I Play One On Myspace

Luke has been a little "under the weather" lately, with a back thing going on, so I've been "babying" him. I didn't know I was going to have to do surgery on him until Saturday evening. He walked in the kitchen, pulled his shorts down, leaned over the kitchen counter and asked, "Miss Carla, will you look at this on my back and tell me what it is?"

Looking at his upper left butt cheek, I answered, "It's a skin tag . . . and I mean a BIG one. That's the biggest skin tag I've ever seen in my life! Do you want me to cut it off? I love cutting things off."

This is not Luke's skin tag, but it looks just like it.

"Yes", he answered. "Cut it off."

"It's going to hurt and it's going to bleed like a son of a gun!", I warned him.

"That's OK. I've got some sharp scissors in my car. Do you want to use those?", he asked.

"Yeah, you go get the scissors and I'll get my doctoring stuff.", I said.

"Let's see . . . some bandages, alcohol, neosporin, surgical gloves, towels. Are you sure you want me to cut it off? That thing needs to be amputated . . . BAD!"

So once again, he dropped his shorts and leaned over the counter. I laid out all of my doctoring tools and snapped on my surgical gloves. The snapping of the surgical gloves made Luke a little nervous, but I had him in a prone position, so I had the advantage.

"OK, it's fixing to hurt!", I warned.

"Just do it. Just do it NOW.", he said.

I took the sterilized scissors and cut the tag . . . All it did was pinch the hell out of him.

Apologizing, I said, "Oops! Sorry . . . I was just practicing. I'll get it THIS time though. Do you want me to stop?"

"No. Just do it.", he said.

I knew I had to get it this NEXT time, or I would lose my chance and he would have to walk around with an extra nipple on his butt forever. So once again, holding the tag with one hand, and the scissors in the other, I snipped it right off! Eureka!

As I handed the tag to him, he said, "You know this means we're family now."

"I know . . . I don't think I've even had my face in MINOR'S butt crack for this length of time.", I assured him.

So I held pressure on his ass for the next 30 minutes and it was still bleeding. It finally slowed up enough to get a bandage on it but then we had to stick a towel in his shorts to catch the overflow. I sent Minor to the drug store for more bandages and some super glue, just in case!

Isn't Luke a good sport? And I'm so happy he let me do the amputation!