Falling down. Getting up.

noname

When I look at a picture of my brothers and me, my childhood nickname, “The Brand X Baby” comes to mind.  Lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, I’m the little, fine-boned guy.  My brothers all topped six feet, kept their slender frames, but filled out nicely.  Being The Brand X Baby had life-long consequences.

I am the second oldest.  In order to economize for the large family my parents were anticipating, the off-brands of food and formula were purchased for me.  And just like Madison Avenue displayed in commercials of the era — “Here we have the results with the name brand product and here are the results with Brand X.”  That’s me, The Brand X Baby.

My brothers and I have had fun over the years with the name and the concept. Perhaps, we muse, that we had a fine-boned ancestor generations ago.  It’s silly speculation that the Brand X formula made me the runt of the litter, nonetheless, I always purchase the name brand product.


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