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Each of my four children is incredibly unique.

Joshua, my oldest, is built with a confidence that arises from an ever-increasing intellect. And while he may often be very right about whatever he’s debating at any given moment, that same intellect and confidence has the potential for getting him into trouble.

Madeline, the next in line, is beautifully graceful in both body and soul, and is so pleasant to be around that one is actually a lesser human being when she’s away. She cries at the littlest things, and not necessarily because she’s fragile, but because she cares about so much. She wants things to be good for everyone, and with that, she’s always a light in dark places.

Harrison, the third among the crew, has a brilliant mind that is, more often than not, unhindered by his own body. In other words, he will sometimes offer truthful commentary when he should be silent. But on the other hand, his empathy runs deep, and his love for his family is unbreachable. In addition to all of this, his abilities with language are so far beyond the average person. I have a feeling that when it comes time to pass along the mantle of The Angels’ Portion, he’ll be the one at the keyboard bearing it.

But I think he’s going to need his little sister’s help, and here’s why.

Evelyn, the last of the squad, is the strangest of them all.

Of course she’s the absolute stereotypical girl when it comes to girly things. She cares affectionately for her baby dolls. She loves doing her nails. She adores unicorns and Disney princesses. She bears the brightest smile when bathing in the pinks and purples and yellows of this world’s design. But she has a side that few are privileged to behold, and it causes her to respond in a moment’s notice with shockingly unforgettable words and actions, most of which revolve around using the word “butt” or talking about poop.

Take for example a most recent scene in which she received a box of Skittles. Being the tormenting father that I am, I told her that I was going to sneak a few when she wasn’t looking.

“Oh no, you won’t!” she said emphatically. “I’m going to hide them under my pillow where you won’t find them.”

“Honey,” I said, “you just told me where they’ll be.”

“Evelyn,” her mother chimed, “something tells me that putting them under your pillow wouldn’t work, anyway. Daddy will probably find them.”

“You know it,” I said, taunting her.

“Well,” she offered resolutely, “I’ll just put them up my butt. You won’t want them after they’ve been hidden in there, will you?”

There was nothing left to argue in that little exchange. She was right. I wouldn’t be in the mood for Skittles if that happened.

Another milder example…

Evelyn was in a moment of struggle in the bathroom when she called out to Jennifer, “Momma, I’m trying to poop, but I can’t!”

“Well, keep at it, sweetie,” Jen replied with a kindly voice. “It’ll happen.”

Again, stepping up to my role as an instigating father, I called back to the little girl, “Honey, do you need me to get you a spoon so you can pry it out?” A short moment of silence passed before I heard a giggle.

If you think it’ll help,” she said with a tone of faux innocence.

This is representative of the stranger stuff from which The Angels’ Portion is often squeegeed—the weirder dimensions of life’s normal doings—and Evelyn is more than brimming with the abilities to see them and deliver. I’m more than confident that Harrison has the literary skill to bring them to you personally.

And who knows which whiskies they’ll like or dislike, especially when it comes to some of the bottom shelf, fringe whiskies that you only buy while on vacation—whiskies like the John Barr Reserve Blend.

The nose of this particular dram is most certainly light, giving over hardly a wafting of chocolate malt and an even lesser measure of peat.

The palate is a little more complex. Milky in its texture, it offers a sugared grapefruit tang that’s not necessarily unpleasant, but that’s only because it’s lying just below a rescuing layer of caramel and malt that seemed a little out of place.

The finish is short. This is good, because there’s trouble in the fruit mix it’s trying to share.

My thoughts: Go ahead and hide this one wherever you want—under your pillow, in your butt, or wherever. It’ll be a long shot before I go looking for it again anytime soon.

What I didn’t tell you in the beginning is that getting Harrison and Evelyn together to keep The Angels’ Portion alive is probably a long shot, too. Right now, I think they’re both putting in extra hours to get the other arrested and thrown into jail. I’m serious. These two are not the best of friends. I’ve thought about paying to send them to a team building seminar—you know, one that has them playing paintball in the woods or climbing rock walls. But in the end, it felt more like I’d be paying to test Harry’s ability to survive a point blank shot of the paintball gun to his throat and an assessment of Evelyn’s dexterity when Harry cuts her safety rope on the rock wall.

I’d rather be hopeful that God will sort it out in time while I spend my money on whisky—even whisky that’s kind of “meh,” like the John Barr Reserve Blend.