My parents and I were at a faculty picnic at Merrill Park in 1981 when my mother went into labor. While she gave birth and recuperated over the next two days, I got to have two sleepovers, first at the Yensers’ and then with the Barbers’. I was in the front yard with Melissa Barber when my parents picked me up.

The first thing I noticed about my new brother was the little vestige of his umbilical cord—a tiny, blackish, shriveled turd of a thing—projecting from his navel. I asked my parents why Joseph was pooping out of his bellybutton.

Happy birthday, Joe. Your days of bellybutton-pooping are now twenty-six years behind you.