Know what makes you feel old? No, not the sagging, creases, or belly fat. Not that your friends from high school are graduating their children next Spring. No, it's when your YOUNGER brother is turning the big 4-0.
I remember the good old days of screaming matches, name calling, and tongue-sticking-outing. The days when it was boys vs. girls, pitted against each other for days on end over some trivial little issue.
Where have those days gone? Sometimes I actually miss them.
Truly, when our biggest worry was who was going to get the last package of Little Debbie's, what in the world was there to get stressed out about?
Today, my Bro and I get to worry about our kids getting exposed to junk on You Tube, the crazy people who kidnap 11-year-old girls and lock them up for 18 years, and whether or not our children will survive this horrible generation.
But, this weekend, we'll put all those worries behind and stop for a minute to salute the passing of my Bro's youth. My sweet, shy, ATM-loving, devoted father and husband of a Bro. And, truly, the best brother a girl could ask for.
I won't buy him a $12 cane with a horn on it from Party City because that kind of thing embarrasses him. I remember his best friend's wedding, where he was appointed best man. Poor guy almost passed out with fright before going on stage. He swore off wedding gigs from that day forward. Even avoiding having to do a big wedding himself. THAT'S how hard it is for him to be in the spotlight.
If, somehow, anyone in our family ever becomes famous enough that reporters skulk around and find Bro to ask for an interview, he'll become a hermit. Cross my heart, hope to die, he will.
Truth is, for every forty words I speak, Bro speaks one. Or, maybe, more accurately, half of one. He is a man of very few words, so when he does speak, you know to listen because it is likely going to be good. He probably thinks I have diarrhea of the mouth. After all these years, I'm just thankful he still takes the time to listen to my overwhelming ability to drool words.
I'm also thankful that he has a posse of friends whom he adores and keeps in touch with. They are a great collection of guys, gathered from years in high school and college, who are dyed-in-the-wool, true-blue friends. I know he has stayed sane through all these years, and all those beers, because of them.
I'm most thankful that he married a generous, loving, out-spoken*, woman who has endured two pregnancies to bring our beloved niece and nephew to this world. They are a cohesive bond of love in action.
For my part, I know he loves me because, when I ran away from home with a gallon of milk and a box of Cheerios, Bro cried big, croccodile tears. Mom says he was hysterical. Of course, I was just beside the house, under the sailboat, in the pouring rain, eating Cheerios. But HE thought I was gone for good**. If the tables had been reversed, I would have been crying, too.
I hope he knows that I love him fiercely. We don't get on each other's nerves much anymore*** or resort to calling each other unfriendly names, so I think we've made progress. He has grown into a man any sister could be proud of. And I am.
So, here's to you, Bro. Happy 40th. If the good die young, then there's a problem, because you are GREAT.
But, you're still OLD. ;)
*She is so awesome because she has the gift of being outspoken without being a "b" with an itch. Me, on the other hand? A "b" AND an itch...
**This is a true story. I was a little bit melodramatic as a child. Some things never change.
***OK. I can only speak for myself here. I can HOPE I'm speaking for him, too.
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