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Friday, July 18, 2008


Growing up, my brother and I didn't get along. Apparently when I was born of course, he was very excited to be a big brother. But as we both "matured", he found that one of the greatest pleasures of "big brotherhood" was torturing his little sister.

And so it happened that I was on the wrong end of flying spiders being tossed in my direction, the recipient of a shoe-print to the face (although THAT was a bona-fide accident) and various other things. He was often subtle in his tortures, most often blaming me for things that he did, and our Mom, who should have known better, often fell for his expression of innocence while I was the one with the face screwed up in anger at the injustice of whatever it was he had just done to me in that given moment.

But over time, even as we drove each other crazy and had arguments, we also began to enjoy some of the same things, roll our eyes at each other's friends, and still find the ability to sit down and watch a movie together. Yet, I don't think we could really finally call ourselves "friends" until sometime in college, around the time our father passed away. Although Dad had not lived with us for years, and in fact, had been living out of the state for years, his loss changed the dynamic in our little family, and I suspect it affected my brother the most.

Sadly, though, although my brother lives in the same metro area I do, he's still about 45 minutes to an hour away, so we don't really see each other that often. Our schedules never seem to work out according to plan; if I have a weekend free, he doesn't. But his house has become the landing zone for major holidays, and happily, my dog is welcomed there.

Tonight, I'm headed down to visit him and his girlfriend. In reality, as he finishes painting his garage, she and I will likely hang out in front of a movie, sipping "vino" and chatting. Because that's what girls do best! My brother will be welcome to join us whenever he gets around to it. And it sure is nice being friends with my brother; it defintely beats the childhood rivalry which Mom never did seem to figure out how to handle!


Lillian Marie said...


I'm glad we weren't the only ones who drove our parents crazy! 4 kids in the back seat of a volare (on a road trip) saying 'stop touching me!' and then all of a sudden my parents heard, 'I'm not touching you...'

Now that we're grown, get us all together & we're still driving our parents crazy...and we still talk about the days of 'not touching you'...although now, we've taught our nieces and nephews the art. *grin* (my brother LOVES us! hee hee).

Anonymous said...

LOL! We actually got into that discussion last night, stuff we used to do. And oh, boy did I learn some things about him that I never knew! Will have to tell you in