I would be ignoring a large part of my heart if I didn’t talk about my brothers.
These two young men, I am proud to have as siblings, always seem to inspire me. They are both talented, brave, hilarious, and most of all, kind.
Two and a half years and nine years younger than me, I have seen them grow and noticed their significant moments in life; though not always physically present and even sometimes a little too wrapped up in what was going on in my life, I am still ever-aware of their presence in the world and glad for it.
To speak of significant moments; I remember so many details of what I was doing the day my youngest brother was born. I was in third grade and standing in line at the water fountain in the classroom when I was called to go to the neighboring town and meet my new brother.
Our neighbor took our middle brother and me home and we called the hospital from the orange corded phone that hung on the kitchen wall covered by the the shapes of orange, green, and brown baskets of fruits and vegetables on the wallpaper. So popular in the 70s.
She then took us to the hospital. I was thrilled. We were going to meet him. I didn’t know when we set out that my brother and I were to have the honor of naming him. Our parents let us pick out his first name and we came to the same one with no trouble at all.
Both my brothers are world travelers and have always set their own paths. I have been so proud to watch them build lives different than the typically-expected.
I might have influenced this love of travel for my middle brother as when we were very little, I “traveled” him from his crib to the couch when I was about three-years-old.
He was supposed to be napping, but I went to my mom and said, “My baby was crying.” She went to his crib and the safety gate was still up. You know, the not-so safety gate of the 80s?
I had somehow perfectly picked him up over the safety gate and placed him on the couch in the living room. He couldn’t have been more than six months old.
But, the significant part of telling this story is the, “My”, “My baby was crying.” I think this is a common sentiment among first-born children. We willingly take on a responsibility for the wellbeing of the younger, even when it is not needed.
What I have enjoyed most about my brothers is knowing them as adults. These incredibly interesting people with their own experiences, their own thoughts, their own feelings; I would choose them to be my friends, blood or not.
I am better for knowing them and even moreso, grateful to have a permanent bond. I got real lucky, and I don’t take that for granted.
Author’s note: I started writing this two days ago prior to realizing April 10th is siblings day.