My name is Joseph. Aged seventeen. Son of the well-known farmer, Jacob Eaves. I live in a small-town in Conquest, New York, as do my eleven brothers. Yes, you heard me right. Eleven brothers, and they're all older than I. How do I deal, especially with them all being from different moms than mine, you may ask? Truth is, I don't. As a matter of fact, they hate me. They wish that I had never been born. Why? Because I'm the favorite son.
"Joseph!" My father calls to me from the house. I am sitting up in the large oak tree in our backyard, shirtless, and enjoy watching my brothers tend to the newly growing crops. It's the split between summer and fall, the time where it's not hot enough to wear shorts, but cool enough not to wear a shirt. For me, it is, anyways.
"Yeah!" I yell, peering down at my old man. He's standing on the porch, scratching his thinning hair under his old camouflage fishing hat that he wears almost every day. His plaid shirt is rolled up to the elbow and tucked into his worn jeans, and his shirt is unbuttoned several times. My dad rarely wears a short sleeve shirt, or shorts for that matter. Mom just said it was what every farming man did. Not me, though. Of course, I still wear the camo hats my parents get me, and I'm even wearing one now, and plaid shirts and jeans, and cowboy boots, as we're farmers.
"C'mere! I got something for ya." Dad says, and by the way he's talking, I can tell he has a wheat stalk in his mouth. I climb down the tree, barefoot and plop down on the grass next to my dad.
"What's up?" I ask, sitting down in the grass and pulling my socks and boots on.
"Come into the house." He says, turning and striding to the screen door. I nod, standing, and following him inside. The smells of Mom cooking dinner, at four o' clock because we have fourteen people in the family, overwhelms my senses. Most of my older brothers don't live here-they live next to us-but we all eat together. I don't share my mom with any other brothers because the wives my father had before Mom died in succession. He's lost two to a car accident, and a sudden death that no doctor can explain. We all pray to God that my mom won't be lost before her time like the others.
"You hungry, kiddo?" Mom asks when Dad and I get to her in the kitchen. She's stirring something in a huge pot, and it smells like noodles of some kind.
"Heck, yeah!" I say, smiling at Mom. She just laughs and tousles my mess of brown hair.
"Go put a shirt on, you worthless thing." Mom teases, and I roll my eyes.
"As soon as I'm done with him, sweetie." Dad says, kissing her cheek. "Then I'll make him." Now it's Mom's turn to roll her eyes.
"Fine, fine." She says, turning her attention back to the boiling pot. I walk into the huge living room, with its leather couches, large TV, and wooden everything. Wooden floors, wooden walls, wooden ceiling. It's a luxury only us rich farmers can afford. My mom takes pride in our log cabin, and makes all of us clean it on Saturdays. Today, it's a Friday, and we're all dreading what tomorrow is going to look like. I plop myself down on the couch, and my dad sits in a love seat across from me.
"Son, you know that I appreciate your hard work, and your kindness to this whole family, and your perseverance. Your mother and I love you very much, and…" He sighs, and pulls something out from between the couch cushions. "We pulled together some savings money to buy you this." He holds out to me a belt. It's leather, and covered in decorative patterns. The belt buckle looks like pure silver, and I see some jewels on the outside of the belt.
"Father, I…." I pause, in awe of my father's generosity. "I can't accept this."
"I know, my son. I raised you that way. But, as your father, I'm asking you to take it. To accept this gift of my love for you." Dad says. I nod slowly, and reach out, taking the belt from his hands. I inspect it from tip to tip, and under both parents' watchful eyes, I slip it into the belt loops. Once I put it on, I stand up.
"It flatters your abs, son." Mom says, and my cheeks flare up. I've been working out for years, and last year, I finally accomplished what I'd been dreaming of since I was a young boy: a six-pack. Now, I have a twelve-pack, and am extremely proud of it. "Thanks, Mom. I won't let you regret this, Mom and Dad. I promise." I say, tucking my thumbs into my pockets.
"Good. Now, go put a shirt on." Mom jokingly snaps, going back to her noodles. I smirk, and go do as I'm told.