I can say without hesitation that my brother, five years and one week my senior, (enjoy this week, sucka, come Saturday next I'm gunning for you) is my best friend in the world. He is my rock, my common sense, the one who reminds me to work hard every day. He keeps secrets, lets me cry on his shoulder, and only slightly ridicules me when I can fit my whole head inside a giant bag of Doritos - NAILED IT. (there is a photo of said experience, and maybe if you play your cards right, I'll show you someday.)
Sibling closeness for us was a long road. In our youthful rough-housing, there was a great deal of getting my ass kicked. I remember Brother read my pink Lisa Frank (word!) diary when I was about 9 years old, and in a righteous rage (my privacy! Now he knows the boys I like! I'm ruined!) I slapped him hard in the face. The minute my hand connected, and I saw the murder in his eyes, I thought "Now I am dead." And then there was lots of running, and screaming and punching. He dead-legged me like it was going out of style. Poor parents. We were kind of a handfull. So many times I would remember mom screaming "SEPARATE!" in order to pry us apart from trying to smack each other.
Because really, he is cool older brother, and I'm little sister just trying to crib his style. I followed him, then and now, in a desire to be close, to emulate the person I love most in the world. There is no other shadow I am so honored to be in.
Now, in our grown-up lives, do I think we've kind of returned to the sweetness of our childhood relationship, except this time I don't fall for stupid-ass tricks like "under this blanket is that toy you want ha ha ha." Brother has always been very protective of me, doing his best to keep me away from bad decisions, stupid ideas, and his handsome friends. He looks out for me.
We aren't perfect. We still fight and don't talk from time to time, but now as adults we are better equipped with the tools to talk our way back into each other's good graces. The distance put between us by school and geography has helped us appreciate more the rare times when we are together. And of course, our father's illness was a far-too-early insight into the fact that later on down the road, it will be just us, family wise. So we'd better not piss each other off too much! I don't think we will. I think from this point on, we're going to be great. Really, truly great. I believe in his talent, and will always be there to cheer for him.
So friends, please raise your Slurpee (or coffee from Victory Donuts in Van Nuys) in a toast to my brother. To my perfectly imperfect hero, my favorite friend. To Diet Dr. Pepper, In-N-Out Burgers, single pieces of cake from Ralphs, and other bizarre and hilarious ways in which we've celebrated your birth. I'm sorry I couldn't make it out west this year. Consider this a raincheck until next time.
I love you, Brother.
Happy Birthday.
