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The Importance of Seeing “Alf” I shuddered as I heard the too-quick footwork and then thumps on the stairs. I knew that my peaceful living room sanctuary, devoted to examining the exploits of an alien from Melmac living in L.A., could not last for long. That my little brother would never allow anyone to sit quietly watching their plush midget heroes while he was in the slightest discomfort. The girlish pre-pubescent shrieks began almost instantly, overpowering and diluting the brilliant dialogue, along with the fragile shred of patience and sympathy I had for my only sibling. “Shut the hell up!” I screamed towards the stairs, unaware that a pint of my brother’s blood was puddled on the wooden steps. The hospital trip consisted of my parents and my brother, crimson washcloth to forehead and wailing. I wasn’t invited. “No problem, Willy!” I yelled after my father Jeff, “I’ll just stay here alone and eat the cat.” I turned back to my cathode ray tube babysitter.
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