Way back in February my brother Thomas wrote a blog post for my birthday. Since today is his special day, I figured I would return the favor. So here it is, a birthday message to my little brother.
In our family, there were the Big Kids and the Little Kids. My older sister and brother were 7 and 4.5 years older than myself; they were the Big Kids. Thomas and I are 2.5 years apart; we were the Little Kids. The Big Kids were model siblings: they played nicely and never, ever fought. Thomas and I, on the other hand, were not model siblings [although, in retrospect, I realize that our interactions were probably the more typical of the two; the Big Kids were (are?) just weird]. If you had asked me when we were young what I thought of my little brother, I probably would have said something ridiculous like we were the bitterest of enemies. It’s only in looking back that I realize that quite the opposite was true. Yeah, we fought a lot (I’m pretty sure no one has received THE LOOK quite as often as Thomas), but at the same time I think we were also the best of friends.
Thomas and I have always been playmates. When we were young I remember long, drawn out games of He-man, Batman, and cops and robbers with the kid next door. We climbed trees, played in the dirt, made bungee cords for our stuffed animals (and threw them off of banisters), and buried dead birds that we would find in the yard on occasion (yeah, gross … I was a bit of a tomboy). Through the years the games have changed (he taught me how to play Halo), but Thomas remains one of the people I am able to have the most fun with, probably because we are perfectly comfortable being ridiculous and nerdy. Plus we both recognize that it is so much more fun (and effective) to annoy your parents in pairs.
Despite the fact that we fought like cats and dogs, I was always very protective of my little brother; I could mess with him, but watch out if anyone else so much as looked at him cross-eyed. I remember not talking to a friend of mine for most of the school year because he hit Thomas in the face with a snowball and made him cry. When a kid stole my brother’s Mighty Max, I hunted him down, found the toy, and made sure he suffered the full wrath of an angry sister. When the bully at the bus stop gave Thomas a hard time, I marched right over to the kids’ house and talked to his mother. You just didn’t mess with my little brother. Truth be told, not a whole lot has changed in that regard – let that be warning.
Unfortunately, Thomas is a bit far for me to do battle with anyone that might deserve it. You see, a little over a year ago Thomas joined the Peace Corp and moved to the Republic of Georgia to teach English. I’m pretty proud of him, because I know something about how hard it is to leave home and family and to make this sort of sacrifice for other people (some of whom may not recognize or appreciate that sacrifice). I was lucky enough to go to Italy, where they have functioning toilets and use the same alphabet. Thomas doesn’t have those luxuries. But he’s a smart kid (he had a Masters degree way before I did) and pretty resilient (he doesn’t have the same issues with outhouses that I do) and I know he’s doing great things. Still, when I need someone to counsel me on the bizarre nature of the male psyche, it’s hard not to miss Thomas, who has long been my counselor on the subject. So if I fail epically in my relationships, it’s probably because I don’t get to talk to Thomas often enough.
So here’s to my not-so-little brother Thomas on his birthday. I’m glad you’re one of my best friends. We love you and miss you and can’t wait for you to come home.
In our family, there were the Big Kids and the Little Kids. My older sister and brother were 7 and 4.5 years older than myself; they were the Big Kids. Thomas and I are 2.5 years apart; we were the Little Kids. The Big Kids were model siblings: they played nicely and never, ever fought. Thomas and I, on the other hand, were not model siblings [although, in retrospect, I realize that our interactions were probably the more typical of the two; the Big Kids were (are?) just weird]. If you had asked me when we were young what I thought of my little brother, I probably would have said something ridiculous like we were the bitterest of enemies. It’s only in looking back that I realize that quite the opposite was true. Yeah, we fought a lot (I’m pretty sure no one has received THE LOOK quite as often as Thomas), but at the same time I think we were also the best of friends.
Thomas and I have always been playmates. When we were young I remember long, drawn out games of He-man, Batman, and cops and robbers with the kid next door. We climbed trees, played in the dirt, made bungee cords for our stuffed animals (and threw them off of banisters), and buried dead birds that we would find in the yard on occasion (yeah, gross … I was a bit of a tomboy). Through the years the games have changed (he taught me how to play Halo), but Thomas remains one of the people I am able to have the most fun with, probably because we are perfectly comfortable being ridiculous and nerdy. Plus we both recognize that it is so much more fun (and effective) to annoy your parents in pairs.
Despite the fact that we fought like cats and dogs, I was always very protective of my little brother; I could mess with him, but watch out if anyone else so much as looked at him cross-eyed. I remember not talking to a friend of mine for most of the school year because he hit Thomas in the face with a snowball and made him cry. When a kid stole my brother’s Mighty Max, I hunted him down, found the toy, and made sure he suffered the full wrath of an angry sister. When the bully at the bus stop gave Thomas a hard time, I marched right over to the kids’ house and talked to his mother. You just didn’t mess with my little brother. Truth be told, not a whole lot has changed in that regard – let that be warning.
Unfortunately, Thomas is a bit far for me to do battle with anyone that might deserve it. You see, a little over a year ago Thomas joined the Peace Corp and moved to the Republic of Georgia to teach English. I’m pretty proud of him, because I know something about how hard it is to leave home and family and to make this sort of sacrifice for other people (some of whom may not recognize or appreciate that sacrifice). I was lucky enough to go to Italy, where they have functioning toilets and use the same alphabet. Thomas doesn’t have those luxuries. But he’s a smart kid (he had a Masters degree way before I did) and pretty resilient (he doesn’t have the same issues with outhouses that I do) and I know he’s doing great things. Still, when I need someone to counsel me on the bizarre nature of the male psyche, it’s hard not to miss Thomas, who has long been my counselor on the subject. So if I fail epically in my relationships, it’s probably because I don’t get to talk to Thomas often enough.
So here’s to my not-so-little brother Thomas on his birthday. I’m glad you’re one of my best friends. We love you and miss you and can’t wait for you to come home.
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