Brother.
My brother called me into his room today. He was doing one of those fidgety we-need-to-talk dances and so I sat, patiently, and waited for him to say whatever was on his mind.
Finally, gruffly, staring out the window, he told me that ever since he'd left home, he'd had a box of stuff for me that he had always wanted to give me, important things from when we were kids. Stuff, he said, for his little brother. So he handed me the box tied together with string, this ancient-looking thing, and when I opened it I found a collection of small little things: a baseball mitt, car keys, razor. And he said that those were all the things he'd wanted to do for/with his little brother: play baseball, teach him how to drive, how to shave. All the rites of passage.
I sat there with the box on my lap feeling alone and miserable. I can't play baseball, I've never liked sports, and thanks to my virtually nonexistent puberty I don't need to shave.
And then Mark cleared his throat and said, "I know I sort of made that box for the you I figured you would be and the you I wanted you to be. I spent my whole life getting mad because I believe people screwed up your life by not letting you be you, but I was the worst one of all. So I made you another box."
And it was full of little things, too. MAC Lipglass. A tiny silver pentacle. Sheet music.
Mark said, "I still want to be a good brother, but you're going to have to show me how."
It's one of the most beautiful things anyone has done for me ever, and I love him for it.
It took a long time, but it feels so good to have a brother.
Finally, gruffly, staring out the window, he told me that ever since he'd left home, he'd had a box of stuff for me that he had always wanted to give me, important things from when we were kids. Stuff, he said, for his little brother. So he handed me the box tied together with string, this ancient-looking thing, and when I opened it I found a collection of small little things: a baseball mitt, car keys, razor. And he said that those were all the things he'd wanted to do for/with his little brother: play baseball, teach him how to drive, how to shave. All the rites of passage.
I sat there with the box on my lap feeling alone and miserable. I can't play baseball, I've never liked sports, and thanks to my virtually nonexistent puberty I don't need to shave.
And then Mark cleared his throat and said, "I know I sort of made that box for the you I figured you would be and the you I wanted you to be. I spent my whole life getting mad because I believe people screwed up your life by not letting you be you, but I was the worst one of all. So I made you another box."
And it was full of little things, too. MAC Lipglass. A tiny silver pentacle. Sheet music.
Mark said, "I still want to be a good brother, but you're going to have to show me how."
It's one of the most beautiful things anyone has done for me ever, and I love him for it.
It took a long time, but it feels so good to have a brother.