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My Twin Brother:
By Willie Gaffer:
November 24, 2003:

I received this interesting e-mail message recently.

"Dear William or Willie or Whatever:
I don't know whether to love you or to hate you. You write about how we should care for children and I think I love you. Then I read the derogatory mean things you say about the faith of our fathers and I think I hate you.

Sincerely:
A liberal Democrat hiding out in Dallas."

I can almost understand this person's dilemma. She likes one part of my philosophy and dislikes another part. She thinks she must choose between the different parts of me and doesn't know which way to go. Seeing it the way she does, it is a conundrum.

I did not know how to respond to her. How do you resolve a conundrum? I did not want to ignore this person, nor did I want to be rude to her. I wanted to give her a thoughtful answer. That's why I decided to ask my twin brother. It is a little know fact that between us, me and my brother know everything. Since I did not know, it was sure that he would know.

I immediately called him on the telephone. He is a bit old fashioned and does not have e-mail. In fact, he does not even have a computer if you can imagine such a thing. He does have a black and white television. It's an old one he got from our mother many years ago. Like most of the stuff made in those days, it still works. As to the phone conversation, it went like this.

"Hello?"
"Hey brother Boneso, it's Willie."
"How ya doin' Willie?"
"Swell Boneso."
"Then why'd ya call?"
Boneso is a bit abrupt like that. If I interrupt him, I ought to have a reason.
"Well I have a question for you," I replied.
"Okay, what."
"I got this woman correspondent and she don't know if to love me or hate me."
"What'id ya do ta her?"
"Nuthin' brother, I just write," I replied. "I write about kids and religion and stuff. She likes what I say about kids, but not what I say about religion."
"So?"
"So, I can't tell her. Should she love me or hate me?"
"Heck Willie, that's just the classic conundrum."
"The classic conundrum Boneso?"
"Sure. If I don't know whether to crap or go blind, I close one eye and fart."
"Huh?"
"Tell her do some a both. She can love you an hate you too. It's just like your wife does."
"Oh!"
"Ya got it Willie?"
"Yes. I think so. She don't have to choose. She can do both."
"Right. You got it."

To make sure I got it, I wrote down our conversation as soon as I hung up. Then I e-mailed it to my correspondent in Dallas. A day later, I got this reply.

Dear Willie:

Thank you. You helped me decide. I have decided to hate you, but now I have two other questions. Why do you call your brother Boneso? Is that his real name and do you hate him or something?

A liberal Democrat, etcetera:

I can most easily answer the second question. I don't hate him, in fact I love Boneso. He is more special to me than any other person I know. This is not a rap on the other special people I know. It is simply because he is my twin. The only way you could understand this is if you were a twin. A twin is one of two and the one is incomplete without the other one. It is not necessary to be joined at the hip or the head for this pair unity to manifest. I believe it must be true of all twins. Twins are spiritually joined somehow.

With a twin, you are never alone. I used to feel sorry for other kids because they did not have another. They only had their selves and that meant they were most always alone unless they played with other kids that were most always alone too. Me and Boneso were never alone when we were kids. We were always together.

One time we got boxing gloves for Christmas. Don't ask me. Ask my mother. Looking back now I think boxing gloves are not an appropriate gift for kids. Whatever. At first I used to beat him at boxing. Then, one day he got desperate and he rapped me in the snoot. It turned out, I was a bleeder. I spouted blood like a geyser. My mother had to put a compress on it to stop the flow. That ended any hope I had of a career in the ring.

I got real mad when he rapped me in the snoot. I wouldn't talk to him for a while. Later I thought about not having him and being alone, just like everyone else. Then I went and hugged him. He was not ready to be hugged and he rapped me again. Same result. Mother had to put on the compress again. That was okay cause he knew that I loved him. After that, we never put on the gloves again and we both forgot to be mad.

One other time I did not like him was when he scored 153 on the army aptitude area test. I was feeling real proud with my 151 till I saw his score. Then I got mad. Later I got over that and I still love my twin brother Boneso. What's two points between twins?

The name I call him, Boneso, just kind of evolved. When we were very young, people wanted to tell us apart so they called us Fatty and Skinny. I was not fat and he was not skinny. I was a bit stocky and he was a bit wiry. The nicknames evolved as nicknames do and eventually became Fatso and Boneso. Our real names are William and Willmer. I think I got the better of that deal. Later, people started to call me Willie, but his nickname never changed. He is 73 years old, but to me he is still Boneso.
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