How do you like being the third oldest in the family?
I enjoy where I rank in the family.
I like being one of the older ones because I can remember the very
beginnings of our family. I vividly remember our old station
wagon, our old house, the births of ten younger siblings. I remember when our family was small,
which seems like ancient history now.
Being the
third oldest is a pretty ideal spot. I get the perks of being one
of the biggest guys, but I don't have to pave the way as much as the two older ones do.
Besides, I like the number three.
What is the worst food
this planet has ever known?
Mashed potatoes. They
taste like laundry soap.
What do you like to do? What are some of your
interests?
Pretty much anything involving creativity, such as acting,
writing, acting like I'm writing, directing, photography, directing
photography, creating computer games, card tricks, and so on.
(Some of Mark's writings can be found in the Waiting
For God's Best section.)
Tell me an anecdote from
your childhood.
Oh, there are so many!
I was always quite the "instigator," to put it mildly.
One incident I remember was when I was roughly 11. At the time, Paul had frequently had some friends of his over to our backyard.
They were older than me and a year or two older than Paul, so I'd say they were around 15 or 16.
Luke at this time was nine or 10, I suppose, and sometimes these bigger kids would pick on Luke a little.
This was partially justified, though, because Luke loved to taunt them.
One day, when a group of these bigger guys
was playing in our side yard, I drew Luke aside and shared with him a brilliant plan.
I explained that the big guys were all on the opposite side of the yard, so he should go out there, taunt the daylights out of them, and then run back into the house and lock the door behind him.
I explained that they couldn't possibly get at him and that he could continue taunting them from inside the house.
This appealed to Luke, and he quickly prepared for his strike.
If I remember right, Luke marched out to the yard, armed with a yellow wiffle bat and a rolled-up newspaper still in its wrapper.
Details on exactly what transpired are sketchy for me since I was watching from inside the house, but I believe Luke hurled the newspaper and the wiffle bat at the big guys and shouted a number of insults.
Then, just as the big guys began to fume and run after Luke, Luke hurried for the side door and reached for its doorknob.
Suddenly, there was an audible and all-too-familiar click.
I locked the door from the inside, and instead of his safe haven, Luke was greeted with a door that wouldn't budge and a very mischievous look on my face.
I'm sure Luke remembers this
incident quite well.
(Complete Family Profiles -- with 175 photographs
and hundreds of in-depth questions -- are available in the Family
Room!)
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