Rusty: "My wife is making me read your website."
He told me he expected a daily entry since he was now reading. I was on my cell phone in the middle of the library, and he was somewhere in Indiana. Thus, I could not bow down before him and promise to get right on that.
There are three years, three months, and fourteen days between the two of us. I have always been the eldest. Rusty has always been the one in charge. Had the birth years been reversed, the roles would still be the same.
The first memory of my brother was the day he came home from the hospital. I have a vague memory of leaning over the front seat of the car and staring at this tiny bundle in my mother's arms.
That's it, and honestly, it could be I only know this from a picture and not from my memory. After all, I have very few memories of our days in Pennsylvania or North Carolina. My memories of my childhood begin in Indiana.
My brother was a cute kid. My favorite time with him was when we would swim at the pool at the country club. His little eyelashes would fan out and clump together to make these little stars above his eyes. He would swim up to me and hold on to me and bat his short star lashes at me, and I would melt. He was so cute. That is pretty much the only sweet memory I have of him.
Most of the time, my brother was a tormentor. He would pick on me. He would make fun of me. He would hit me. He loved to hit me with his fist on the side of my arm. To this day, I can pretty much still take that punch.
He would also poke me in my side. He would do it so much and so often that anytime he would circle me, I would jerk. I am ashamed to say that even today I still protectively cover my side when he comes near me. This, of course, makes him feel superior, and it's pretty much the way of our relationship.
There were times I'm sure when we got along. I remember playing board games with him. We had a vast neighborhood full of kids, and we played games inside and out. But most of the time, we fought. We would disagree about everything and everyone and end up fighting. It was a typical brother/sister relationship.
I was very proud of my brother. He was one of those kids that excelled in athletics. There was not a sport he couldn't do. Every single one he tried, he was heavily sought after by coaches.
He finally settled on golf. People would always pat my shoulder and ask me if I was jealous of him or felt left out. I remember being surprised people thought this of me because the answer was no.
I was never jealous of his athletic ability or his successes. I was very proud of him, and there were things he excelled in and things where I excelled. We weren't in a competition, and no matter how I tried to explain this to people, they believed what they wanted.
As we grew older, I desperately wanted a relationship with my brother. I loaned him the money to go on his first date with the woman he later married. And that date occurred on my birthday! Which goes to show you the way of our relationship. I had a birthday. He left to go on a date. Okay, okay, in all fairness, he did come to my birthday dinner.
I'm not sure, looking back on it now, what I wanted. A relationship where we sat down and conversed honestly, maybe? One where he didn't constantly tell me what to do or how I was wrong?
We grew into adulthood and drifted into those lives. We saw each other when I came to Indiana and, later, after the children arrived, he would visit me. We talk on the phone now and then, and we email. He, of course, has no memory of abusing me when we were younger. I'm not sure what his memories are, but I think he wears a halo in them.
The last time my brother visited, he and I went out alone to pick up some dinner. He asked me about myself. How was I doing? What was I feeling?
In the course of the conversation, I told him my biggest fear was something happening to my husband and how I worry I'd never be able to support my children since I hadn't worked full-time in several years. He looked at me in disbelieve.
Rusty: "I can not believe you would worry about that. If something like that ever happened, I would take care of you. You're my sister. We're family. I will always take care of you if you need me."
Yep, that day when I peered over the front seat into those brown eyes, I stared at someone who would love me. No matter how little we see each other or how many times we poke and prod each other,and no matter how much we yell at each other, we're connected. We're family.
Plus, now that I know he's forced to read this blog, I thought I should schmooze him a bit.
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