Some of you know that a couple short weeks before I left the United States nearly two years ago, I met my brother for the first time since I had been thrown out of the house (for good) as a teenager. This made me homeless until the state stepped in and gave me a place to stay (nevermind that my "home" had bars on the windows; it was -- marginally -- better than being raped or murdered or being forced into prostitution. Lest you think I exaggerate, let me point out that quite a few of my teenaged colleagues from those times are no longer alive for these very reasons.)
Whilst working on my final preparations to emigrate with my parrots, my brother contacted me unexpectedly (not easy since I legally changed my name and relocated thousands of miles away from the parents!). He was asking if I'd like to meet since he would be visiting my beloved home to run in the NYC marathon for the first time.