My brother’s name is Brent. He is two and a half years younger than I am. When we were very young, some people mistook us for twins, especially upon hearing our names – Bruce and Brent.
I lived in Milwaukee for a year or so a number of years ago. Brent and a mutual friend, Rick, visited me on a weekend during the summer. I had made arrangements to golf a round at one of the Milwaukee County golf courses. We arrived at the clubhouse on time, and waited in line to sign in.
A couple of Oriental fellows were directly in front of us in line. Several foursomes were in front of them. During our wait, Brent, Rick, and I discussed the weather, their drive to Milwaukee, and other mundane topics. The line diminished gradually as golfers scrawled their names into the log book. The two fellows in front of us wrote down their names and headed for the first tee. I stepped up to the counter, said hello to the guy behind it, and grabbed the chained pen. I looked at the book and found the lines where our names were to be written. Above those lines were the names of the Oriental guys who had just departed.
They were Bruce and Brent Wong.