About A Brother

Lately I’ve been watching my kids interact as siblings, as friends, and as brother and sister. I’ve watched my 8-year-old daughter tease my 3-year-old son. I’ve watched her help him, play with him, empathize for and sympathize with him. I’ve watched her cry when he is on time-out and comfort him when he’s in trouble. I’ve seen her dress him up in her Elsa costume and watched him proudly strut around the house in a blue shimmery gown, just because his sister liked it and it made her happy.

I’ve watched him stand by her door and whimper after she’s locked him out, because she “wanted privacy.” I’ve watched him throw cars at her head because he thought it was funny, snuggle up to her on the couch as she watched shows he has absolutely no interest in, and I’ve seen him break her toys accidentally on purpose. I’ve watched him copy her every move and every like and dislike, and look up to her literally and metaphorically.

I’ve watched them fight, scream, cry, yell, dance, hug, play, stand up for and protect each other. I’ve heard myself say, “someone is going to get hurt,” “this will end poorly,” “that’s enough,” “be nice to your brother,” and “stop hitting your sister.” And it all faintly reminds me of my childhood, of my interactions with my brother. Watching my kids is like being a spectator to my past, a modern day remake of me and my brother, digitally enhanced.

I wanted my daughter to have a sibling. I hoped for a boy because of how much I love my brother; I wanted her to instantly feel the same kind of love towards another human. I wanted her to experience the warmth of a sibling, the companionship of a friend. I prepared my daughter for the arrival of her brother by telling her stories about my brother. I explained to her how nice it is to share your life with someone who is forever your ally, how great it is to have a confidant you can talk to, and how amazing it is to have someone who seeks your advice and to whom your advice actually matters.

Every day since my son was born, I’ve been carefully navigating my children’s interactions. Making sure they respect each other, care for one another, and truly appreciate having each other as friends. Yes, their age difference is somewhat vast, but no matter what, I am determined to cultivate their friendship and foster their relationship.

My brother and I are 3.5 years apart. Prior to his arrival, I was the first and only child for the entire family. I was spoiled with attention and those around me had to work to earn their place in my heart. My maternal grandmother has often referred to me as a very particular child, one who was not very warm. I willingly gave my affection to only two people: my mother and my paternal grandmother, my Baba.

As a child, my brother was a much more gentle soul. He was kinder and softer than I was. He was affectionate. He hugged and he kissed and he flattered. Thanks to him, I quickly learned to catch more bees with honey. Thanks to him, I learned empathy and compassion. He became someone I not only loved so deeply and completely, but also someone I had to protect and defend, forever.

I would let him play with me and my friends but he was usually the prop. I dressed him up in girls clothes, married him off to my friends sisters in carefully orchestrated pretend play weddings, and made him participate in plays and productions created by yours truly. He was the greatest prop and the most willing participant.

As a teenager, I begrudgingly took him with me to parties at the request of my mother, whom I always wanted to make happy because she worked so much. I spent half of the night making sure he was alright and having fun, and the other half worried about him while I was attempting to have fun. Thanks to me, he played spin the bottle with high school girls while he was still in middle school, even kissed a few. He kept my secrets: when I started smoking in high school, when I hooked up with boys, when I skipped school. He covered for me. I fought his battles, helped him with homework, called him out of school, and set him up with girls. I covered for him.

When I started college, our difference in age was more noticeable, or maybe it wasnt as much age as the difference in stage of life. I no longer included him in my plans and he had plenty of his own friends and interests. He played video games, skated, and loitered in parking lots. I moved away to college, met my husband, got married, had two kids; and, life kind of sort of just moved on and forward.

Meanwhile, my brother graduated high school, finished college, and found a job doing what he loves. And he got really good at his job and turned his passions into a career. But I missed a lot. I missed much of his life while I was building mine. I didnt know a lot and I ignored some of it. But even when we were at completely opposite points in our lives, we still talked and we still gave each other advice and listened to each others problems, and bitched about our parents. We still cared for one another. We still needed each other.

And now, I think, our lives have somewhat settled down. And he is a constant presence in my kids lives and by default in mine as well. And every time he stops by to say hello, my heart swells and my soul smiles. Every hug and every joke and every laugh shared between us reminds me of our childhood and our bond and our lives as children and as siblings.

So I watch my kids and I watch this sister and brother and I make sure they love and respect each other. Because I know just how precious and wonderful a sibling is and how amazing little brothers are. Little brothers, or siblings in general, evoke the type of love closest to the love we feel for our children and I hope my kids love each other just as purely as I love my brother. Because he is the best brother I could have and he is the best person I know. Because siblings are selfless gifts given to us by our parents. Because siblings are our forever friends. Because siblings are our past, our present, and our future. And because in the end siblings are pieces of ourselves, encased in slightly different wrapping.