Michael and Yugos

There's another story about Michael and I growing up that I think would bring a smile to his face. For reasons passing understanding, there were a few months in his high school years when he and his friends were fascinated with the Yugo, a car that was pretty much a lawsuit waiting to happen.

As luck would have it, there was a Yugo dealership about two miles from our house. One afternoon, when I was in fourth grade, I came to our front door to find a post-it note that said "Go to the Yugo dealership." So I turned around and trekked the two miles to the Yugo dealership. I walked in and provided various bewildered salespeople a description of Michael, but no one knew what I was talking about. I walked the two miles back home and through the front door to find a petrified Michael. He'd been crying, worried about where his missing 9 year old brother was. It was the first time I'd seen him cry. I suppose while I was missing he thought I had been the victim of foul play, but worry turned to anger as he apparently thought I had gone off on a Ferris Bueller's Day Off type adventure. He angrily demanded to know where I'd been. I showed him the note on the door, which it turns out he'd meant for his friends, and not me. Needless to say I was immune from prosecution for this series of unanticipated events, and thanks to the unspoken pact between us brothers, our parents were never the wiser.