Like E.T., he is funny-looking, emits weird noises, drinks and eats whatever he gets his hands on (beer, wooden balls, plastic bananas, sponges), and brings out the best—and occasionally the worst—in those he encounters. Unlike the Extra-Terrestrial, he has a double row of teeth, repeatedly voids on his mother's best carpeting, and is not obsessed with phoning home, for he lives there, within the warmth and security of a close-knit family.
Bradley arrived on a night I was to quarterback the Mayo Clinic residents' team against a squad of Rochester construction workers (affectionately known as the "cement heads"). It was cold and rainy, a miserable night for football, so I didn't mind accompanying my wife to the labor and delivery area of St Mary's Hospital. I was hoping for a future all-American, a Rhodes scholar, or at least an Olympic candidate.
The birth was uneventful, but within several days my
Cantwell JD. Brad. JAMA. 1983;249(9):1127-1128. doi:10.1001/jama.1983.03330330015006