Andrew James Kennedy: husband, craftsman, brother, athlete, drummer, toastmaster, daddy par excellence.
There are a lot of things you could say about Andrew, some of them positive (creative, generous, Today Show’s Top 3 Hottest Dads with facial hair), some of them less than positive (scatter-brained, forgetful, still can’t play “Celebrity” by the goddam rules). But everyone – without exception – loves Andrew and is impacted by his laid back demeanor and unwavering loyalty.
My earliest memories of Andrew center on him stealing all the attention, something which he did often during our childhood. Again, sometimes this was a good thing – like when my sisters FINALLY stopped dressing me up like doll and shifted their attention and efforts to Andrew. And sometimes it was a bummer – like when he made out with my 10th grade crush before I did (note: he was 12 at the time).
Things Andrew and I got in trouble for:
- Arguing (constantly)
- Cutting holes in the trampoline with our brand new pocket knives (only once... our stupidity had its limits)
- Karate fighting on and off the trampoline
- Bickering for hours over who had to wash vs. rinse the dishes after dinner
- Fighting over shotgun in any vehicle, ever
- Terrorizing our poor cat, Smoker, who ultimately fled the house
- Picking our own / each other’s nose during family photos (see evidence below)
With four older sisters and one younger, Andrew and I were raised as a package deal. That is, the family pecking read: Rachel, Hannah, Sarah, Ruth, the boys, and Beth. We played sports together, went to friends’ sleepovers together, were even forced to move into the dollhouse in the backyard together (story for another time). I guess this time spent together probably contributed to our butting heads so frequently, especially since we have totally opposite personality types. But it ultimately had the effect of bonding us together, since that was really our only chance of survival in a house with so many sisters. (Kinda kidding: they were actually really great too, as far as sisters go.)
In a lot of ways though, Andrew’s been an older brother to me more than I’ve been to him. Always a calm and unworried person, he has been the one to listen to my panicked and dramatic stories and remind me to “chill out; it’s going to be fine!” And he’s been right every time.
Now, he’s married with two beautiful kids, and he has somehow managed to maintain a full head of hair through it all, a feat which I personally was unable to accomplish. Andrew turns 27 today. This week alone, I have week watched him slay the drums at a small rock show, laugh and play with his kids, gently discipline them when needed, and craft some truly beautiful leather goods as he works towards launching his own brand (Leroy – keep an eye out for it!). He’s still scatter-brained at times – he remembered both kids, but forgot the food for Christmas Eve dinner. But he’s also just as steady and hilarious as ever. And for that reason among many, I hope you have the best birthday ever, Andrew. Thanks for keeping me sane all those years, and for taking the blame for all those knife marks around the house. These past 27 years haven’t had a single dull moment.
But I’m still calling dibs on shotgun.
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| Early photo of Andrew and me, capturing a rare non-combat moment for us. Andrew really digging his Canadian roots (socks + sandals). |
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| Andrew (far right) was typically the best dressed in all our family photos -- still true today. I (barely visible, in the middle) still haven't figured out which is my good side. |
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| Andrew and I at an airshow with Grandpa, getting photobomb'd by some guys's backside and by a kid who looks to be stuck somewhere near "homo erectus" in the evolution of man. |
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| Andrew's "rebellious" stage, resulting in an in-school suspension for this Ronald McDonald 'do (his actual hair -- not a wig). |
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| Present day Andrew with his beautiful family. Much less Ronald McDonaldy. |
