He was institutionalized at 1978 in sports photography

anime, beer, albums, phil bonyata, elliott gould, generation terrorists, karina arroyave, transexual, theref, 1976, mike starr, songs, ubersitenews humor jokes music movies sports, televison, tony darrow, action / adventure, photography, list of proverbs, wordssong lyrics three 6 mafia da first date hypnotize camp posse, community art, lebanese, tony soprano, punchthem, White bread, no mayonnaise: 1978 in sports he forks it out of the can and tries to spread 1978 in sports it around. The tuna doesn't cooperate. He clears his throat a lot. My mother's still talking to herself. I try a joke. My brother gets that look you get when bile backs up. He's at this point eighteen or nineteen and has, as he puts it, his whole fucking life ahead of him. Across the driveway we can hear our neighbor watering the lawn. I ask my father why everybody's home from work today. "What're you, a 1978 in sports cop?" he goes. My brother tamps down the sandwich but tuna falls out when he picks it up anyway. He tamps it down again. I'm rearranging my cards and debating whether to look at his and poking through a book I took out from the library. It has a giant scorpion on the cover, and you have to take something out and do a report, every week. I get good grades, which is what I do instead of talking to people. My parents think I'm going to college. My father says when people ask that it's the one thing this family hasn't fucked up.
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He was photography institutionalized at sixteen and photography released eight months later. It was at Yale-New Haven, a teaching hospital, and they either didn't have much of an idea of what to do with him, or they were totally at a loss, depending on who you talked to. "God forbid we should go somewhere," my mother says from the living room. She's smoking and keeping to herself. "What we need to do instead is show each photography other magazines." "Maybe you should go somewhere," my father tells her. My brother and I are playing 500 rummy. He's kicking my ass. For a while I was kicking his. He's quiet like he's trying to concentrate. He hates when my father goes out of his way to do something for him. His eyes are getting more worrisome in that distracted, unfocused kind of way. He takes a break to make a tuna sandwich.
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