Before, sibling, and after..

Joseph Jr.
Always wanted to be a baseball STAR! And even though I absolutely had NO interest in sports, I knew he was good. He was like a little firecracker (he was 5’9) (still is) I was 5’9 in the 9th grade; I’m now 6’3 (HE HATED THAT) Why? He loved to call me names like “portly” and “Husky”, and whenever I spoke of something (I always had something to say, and no one could stifle me) he LOVED to quote “children should be seen and not heard” 20 TIMES A DAY!! Even though he constantly harassed me, and belittled me, I still really liked/loved him.
After the big fight between Joe & Joe, Joe Jr. went to The Lee Strasburg Theatre Institute for acting classes, he had the “look” but definitely not the “craft” (as they say). He left.
Then it was off to St Petersburg, Fla for baseball camp. During spring training I’d always get a phone call from has wife Ellen (Windows 95) crying, bawling “will he cheat on me”
“Can I trust him” I assured her well that he’d be faithful, but I knew better… He was a notorious HORNDOGG!! He loved young blondes, Ellen was an old (10 years his senior) blonde hag, with great taste in music. We’d drive around in her Nissan 280ZX blasting Bow Wow Wow, and the Psychedelic Furs smoking the best Tai Stick ever (still to this day I have not smoked anything better than that!)
Joe didn’t make it through spring training…
We hardly spoke after that.
My dad hired a private investigator to keep tabs on him. It was said he was training to be in the “MOB” that killed my dad. Having the stigma of the name Joe Colombo (old mobster) was bad enough. It worked to his advantage in this case. My dad went to the “offices” of where Joe Jr. was “training” (SoHo area) and supposedly they (mobsters) treated my dad well (welcomed and respected). I heard the whole story as it was recited to my mom through a phone call, (I was listening in on the other end). So they sat my dad down and grilled him thoroughly as big thugs stood around clutching their holsters, checking his ID and questioning his knowledge of Joe Jr. They told my dad that he was fine and that he made great coffee (??) and was “running errands”, also in a nice way he was told to keep away.
My dad tried…
Joe Jr. did not!
In the past like 15 years I’ve only seen my (step) brother like 4-5 times. He had grown a ponytail and was going bald in the front. Chain-smoking! With a silk print shirt, Levi’s tight 501’s and his signature blue Puma Clyde’s. WEATHERED! He told me he was running numbers (a bookie) from his house in Whitestone, where he still lives with Windows 95. In those last times I saw him he still made fun of my clothes and was so confused that a gay man can have so many tattoos. ?. We visited Judy’s grave in Greenlawn cemetery in Brooklyn and got lost in the graveyard, which FREAKED him out!
The last time we spoke was when my dad died. He just cursed me out like he did my dad that time, claiming that I was going to run off with all the inheritance and give him nothing.
HELLO BUNGFACE THERE WAS NO INHERITANCE!
He called me a pussy for not fighting.
What was I supposed to do days after his death?
He still was tacky!

Judy oh Judy
My refreshingly crazed sister.
During her stay at the Greystone hotel she never worked. She lived off disability and scraps form her mom, my father and me.
She loved going to Century 21 it was the only time I saw her happy. We’d go and she’d spend HOURS in the dressing room trying on clothes and making a scene. I always ended up buying her a Junior Gautier T shirt line, or the cheapest Vivienne Westwood thing we could find.
When I moved to Miami in 92, she took it bad… REAL BAD!
She started “using” again with my ex, who also took me leaving to Fla real bad.
Judy finally got a job at Century 21, and she was soo happy. A “functioning addict” she was. In her new condo, new job…
Then out of nowhere.
Bam!
The last time I saw Judy she was wheelchair bound, and looked like she was in her 60’s.
I flew in from Miami to see her.
She managed to dress up for me in one of the many outfits I bought her that day. She could hardly speak, but she wanted my knit cap. I gave it to her.
She died weeks later.
I found out weeks later.

It’s so hard to write about Judy.

Bless her crazy soul!