Things I Learned From My Big Brother

Still in Rotation: Friend Or Foe Ladies First

Things I Learned From My Big Brother

Yesterday was my older brother’s birthday. Our girls don’t have a brother, and I sometimes feel sorry for them, growing up without the distinct and singular energy that can form between siblings of opposite sexes. There are lessons to be learned from a brother…and you don’t get to pick ’em. Here’s my shortlist of lessons learned at my brother’s side.

The art of the comeback. My brother’s number one gift to me was teasing me nonstop. Not in a mean way, at least not past our high school years, but relentlessly, with great wit and speed. The only way to survive was to grow a thick skin and a fast response reflex. Between him and my older sister, it was like living in full-time comedy boot camp. To this day, nothing makes me happier than sitting around with my siblings and just letting fly with the frank observations on each other’s clothing, physical ailments, and life decisions. It’s like hitting in the majors.
The reassurance of being protected. My brother was a senior in high school when I was a freshman, a big guy who played football, and I don’t think it’s sisterly exaggeration to say he was kind of a big deal. When the rare male soul came around to take me out, my brother stood at the kitchen window that faced the driveway, arms crossed across his chest and legs out in a power pose, and he’d just watch them through the window. No words. Just watching. The driveway had a tricky angle, and the sweat situation was dire for many of these boys as they backed us out of the driveway and narrowly missed the chain link fence. I always pretended to be annoyed, but knew that none of those boys would try anything on me for fear of the Wrath Of Her Brother.
The satisfaction of a wet dish towel snap that leaves a mark. I don’t think I need to explain this except to say that two of three kids were on dish duty every single night.

The love of a menagerie. From the time he was a little guy, my brother has harbored an inner zookeeper. My parents indulged it, so in addition to the family dog and rabbits, my brother’s room always held terrariums and cages with lizards, hermit crabs, gerbils, and a two-foot long iguana named Spike. As an adult he still has turtles and just keeps trading up to bigger and bigger dogs, which he owns in multiples – right now there’s a Great Dane and an Irish Wolfhound. I fully expect his next dog to be Clifford the Big Red one.
The appreciation of the long walk. Every day when we’re at Family Camp, my brother walks all the way around the lake, which involves bushwhacking, a portage, and getting lost and scratched up at the same exact point on the far side of the lake, no matter how many times he does it. I try to tag along at least once or twice if I can. I love how my brother treats this daily walk as a sacred ritual, a ritual that includes stopping to admire tree fungi and poking frogs with a stick.

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From one of last year’s strolls

The need for a diverse beer inventory. The older I get, the lower my interest in fancy cocktails drops. You know what I like? Beer. Cold beer, preferably an IPA. I always chalked it up to living in Munich, but it’s just as much influenced by my brother and his encyclopedic knowledge of brews, his joy in visiting small breweries, and his utter disgust with the monochromatic offering at my house (fist bump, Lagunitas IPA!) Whenever he visits, he first inspects our beer inventory. Then a week or two later, we have a shipment sitting on the porch of the weirdest most whackadoodle selection of craft brews you could imagine. Want a He’Brew? I’ve got one for you. Scotch Ale? Got that. Line up for your S’more Porter, too.

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Current beer situation

The beauty of being a loyal sports fan. My brother is true to his school, and that school is Clarkson University and its Golden Knights hockey team. When I mentioned that his niece had gotten accepted at a highly regarded engineering school in the same division, he said, “That’s great! Does she know their hockey team sucks?” She didn’t even know they had a hockey team, obviously, and if she had it probably would have been a negative. But I appreciated his reliability.
The love of Rush. Of course he loved Rush, he was a teenage boy in the ‘70s growing up near the Canadian border. And I had to DISlike them in equal measure, to keep the sibling power balance in place. But a couple of years ago he got me to agree over the phone to watch “Beyond The Lighted Stage,” the documentary about Rush. He lent me his copy of the DvD, after first giving me a separate call to negotiate the terms of its return, which involved a viewing deadline.

When it arrived, its tattered cover attested to how many times he’d already viewed it, and I sat down grudgingly to watch. Two hours later, Rush was one of my favorite bands – not for the music, that’s still hard for me to appreciate – but for the sweet, sweet band members and the strength of their bonds. Kind of reminds me of my sweet, sweet big brother and the bond I have with him.

Happy Birthday, Big Lar!

Don’t hate us because we’re Amish models who like to pose with garbage cans and our mom in the background.

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