Yesterday I went on Facebook to check in, (actually I went on there to check the spelling of someone's name because she doesn't spell it right and I always forget and use Facebook as my checker....Jaimee) and there were all the National Siblings Day pictures and accolades from Sunday. I felt pretty good in that I hadn't bowed down to the pressure, but then in working on another project I came across a blog post I wrote in 2005. It
Sucking Up Now That I Know He Reads This Site
Posted January 12, 2005
Changes made in italics 2016
Today my brother called me and in the conversation he let it be known that he is reading my website. Actually, his exact words were, "My wife is making me read your website." He wanted me to write something daily now that he was 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 3 years, 3 months and 14 days between the two of us. I have always been the eldest. He has always been the one in charge. Had the birth years been reversed, the roles would still have been the same.
My first memory of my brother was the day he came home from the hospital. We were in the driveway of our house in Pennsylvania. I was in the backseat, leaning over the front seat, staring at this tiny bundle. I don't remember what I was thinking or what was said. I don't remember anything except looking at him. The memory is one of those like they show in the movies where I am standing at the age I am now, watching me as I was then. My brother is swaddled in a blue blanket and his face is staring up at me. I'm not sure if that memory is because I have seen a photo of him in an album, or if it is truly what happened.
After that I really don't have much memory of him of our days living in Pennsylvania or North Carolina. To be fairly honest I have very few memories of that time in my life period. My memories of my childhood begin in Indiana when I was seven and he had just turned four. My brother was a cute kid. My favorite time with him was when we would swim at the pool. His little, wet 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 little star lashes at me, and I would just melt. He was so adorable. That is pretty much the only adorable 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. (Not so much in 2016) He would also take his index finger anytime he was around me and poke me right in the side to make me jump. He would do it so much and so often that anytime he would pass 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 that pretty much is the way of our relationship..
There were times when we got along. I remember playing board games and cards with him. We had a huge neighborhood full of kids and we played games inside and out. On Sunday mornings when all the neighbors were at church we would get up and bowl in our basement or play other games. We use to play a thing when we ate our ice cream where one of us would pretend to be asleep and the other one would still a scoop of ice cream. But most of the time we fought. We disagreed about everything, and everyone, and we always ended up fighting. It was a typical brother/sister relationship in the 70's and 80's.
Despite that stuff, 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, and he played everything; football, baseball, soccer, swimming, tennis, golf. Every sport he tried he was heavily sought after by coaches wanting to turn him into the next great thing. He finally chose golf as his sport and most of his time was taken up with that traveling, playing, and winning in various tournaments. People would always pat me and ask me if I was jealous of him. They wanted to know if I felt left out. I remember always being surprised by this. I never once was jealous of his athletic ability or his successes. I was so proud of him I could have burst. There were things he was good at. There were things I was good at. We weren't in a competition, and no matter how I tried to explain this to people they never believed me. I sometimes thought people needed me to be jealous, but I never understand why. If there was any jealousy, it didn't have to do with his athletic abilities, but more with his ability to charm and get affection from my mother.
As we got older I desperately wanted a relationship with my brother. I even loaned him the money to go on his first date with the woman he later married., and that date occurred on my birthday! Which just goes to show you the way of our relationship. I had a birthday, and he leaves and goes on a date. Okay, okay, in all fairness he did join us for my birthday dinner. I'm not sure, looking back on it now, what I was searching for. I think I wanted to be able to sit down and just have a conversation with him. One that didn't involve him telling me what to do or telling me I was wrong. Today, and especially after the death of our parents, we have more of the relationship I craved, and perhaps that is just the way it is as we age.
We grew into adulthood and just sort of went on with our lives. We saw each other when I came home to Indiana, and later, after the children came, he visited me. We talk on the phone now and then and 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, we went out alone to pick up some dinner. He asked me about myself. How was I doing? What was I feeling? He really wanted to know, to have a serious conversation and so I told him that my biggest fear was something happening to my husband. I told him that I could never support my children as I hadn't worked in several years, and I worried about that at times. He looked at me in disbelieve. "I cannot believe you would worry about that," he told me. "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." And then he reached over and put his hand on my arm and patted it.
And I realized that when I peered over that seat into those little brown eyes that day many years ago, I was staring down at my family, my blood, my brother. The little person that would be a part of me always through life sharing things no one else would share with me. And no matter how little we see of each other, no matter how many times we poke and prod each other, no matter how much we yell at each other, or disagree with one another, we are connected. He loves me. I love him. Bottom line.
Plus, now that I know he's being forced to read this website I thought I should schmooze him a bit.
Happy Siblings Day to my Bro who makes me laugh the loudest. Love you.
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