This isn’t a rant. I’m not getting sick of something. I’m just plain getting sick.

Lemme tell you how this happens. I never get sick. A little cold here and there, but nothing that makes me miserable or keeps me home from work. When it comes to the world of debilitating sickness, I am Superman.

And, when it comes to the world of debilitating sickness, my brother’s house is Kryptonite.

See, my brother has approximately nineteen children. It’s actually only supposed to be four children, but they move so quickly and destroy so much that it usually seems like nineteen children. Anyway, as we all know, in addition to providing a lifetime of joy, love, and neverending pride, children are also the world’s leading source of debilitating sickness. This is probably because of the almost constant presence of sticky hands and poop.

In Superman’s world, he can fly around all powerful-like without much worry because Kryptonite is in relatively short supply. This is another of the many things Superman and I have in common. In my house, there are no children. I have toys and video games and stuff, but no actual children. So I can wander around all powerful-like because sticky hands and poop are in relatively short supply here.

My brother’s house is far. He and his family live in the boonies, where they don’t have modern amenities like movie theaters and electricity. Every time I visit, I get sick, because that’s where they keep the Kryptonite. I don’t visit much because I’m a very busy guy. And if I had to honestly list reasons why I maintain a busy lifestyle, “Not visiting my brother’s house” would probably rank right up there with “avoiding massive debt and poverty.”

Don’t misunderstand me. I love my brother and his wife and their forty-seven children. I do not love driving extremely long distances, and I especially do not love contracting an illness that fills my entire torso with snot and makes everything taste like armpits. Christmas is non-negotiable, however. Visiting the nieces and nephews is mandatory. Alas, Superman must brave exposure to Kryptonite if he wants to make it in the superhero game. Otherwise he’s just a weird dude in tights and a cape, y’know?

So here I sit with my head stuffed up and a bone-deep chill I haven’t experienced since I told my very judgmental grandmother that I intended to marry a woman she felt was “a dirty slut.”

(I should have listened to her.)

Tags: sick kids, contagious, superman, getting sick