(no subject)
Whenever I hang out with friends who have kids, I always end up sharing stories about my nieces and how my brother and sister-in-law are raising them. Naturally, these stories focus on highlights, but the response is always the same: "Your brother sounds awesome!" Yeah, he is.
William was born to be a dad. I was his constant companion through his teen and young adult years. He would often pick me up from ballet and take me to Newcomb Hall at UVA, where he was a student, and we'd play pool and eat pizza there. Or we'd hang out at his house downtown and play chess. When he went on trips, he took me with him. He explained things on my level, but always explained them. He wanted me to know about equality, tolerance, history, math, physics, the environment, and all sorts of things most people don't bother talking to little kids about. I'm the bleeding heart peacenik that I am today because of his influence. 14 years older than me, he cut his parenting teeth by spending more time with me than most siblings who live in the same house do. He moved to North Carolina and then New York City when I was in middle school, but he was a constant presence through my most formative years, and I'm so grateful for the relationship we had back then.
And now he's got three next-generation Megs in his household. They're not exactly like me, of course. They're only 50% Massie, though Massie is a pretty dominant characteristic. Emily (Lucy's mom) and Rachel (WT's wife, mom to Frankie and Bess) play their roles in shaping the girls, and they do a phenomenal job, too. My nieces are fabulous people, and I love them to pieces, but I'd think they were some of the raddest kids on earth even if they weren't mini-megs. The little games my brother plays with them, their little routines, are just so unbelievably adorable. He teaches them refrains from popular music, and cues it up for them so that they communicate in the most hilarious ways. If the answer to a question is "no," they answer Amy Winehouse "Rehab" style, singing "No, no, no." If you ask Frankie what's on her mind, she'll tell you "I got my mind on my money and my money on my mind."
He takes the girls to protests and gets them involved in social justice. They held signs at Occupy Wall Street, and have marched in picket lines with teachers for education reform. And they're not just little robots that my brother tells to hold a sign and they do it -- he's teaching them why they're there, and they know more than most Americans do about many current issues. He doesn't tell them "we believe ____." He tells them "___ is going on. Do you think that's fair? What do you think is the problem with that?" He was a national debate champion, after all. He's raising them to use logic and reason.
All three girls look very much like I did as a kid, and I guess the resemblance is still evident in my adult face. But I think they're going to grow up to far surpass me in awesomeness. No matter what they do, though, I'm going to love the tar out of them for ever and ever because nothing in this world is better than being Aunt Meg. And they're the ones who turned me into her.
William was born to be a dad. I was his constant companion through his teen and young adult years. He would often pick me up from ballet and take me to Newcomb Hall at UVA, where he was a student, and we'd play pool and eat pizza there. Or we'd hang out at his house downtown and play chess. When he went on trips, he took me with him. He explained things on my level, but always explained them. He wanted me to know about equality, tolerance, history, math, physics, the environment, and all sorts of things most people don't bother talking to little kids about. I'm the bleeding heart peacenik that I am today because of his influence. 14 years older than me, he cut his parenting teeth by spending more time with me than most siblings who live in the same house do. He moved to North Carolina and then New York City when I was in middle school, but he was a constant presence through my most formative years, and I'm so grateful for the relationship we had back then.
And now he's got three next-generation Megs in his household. They're not exactly like me, of course. They're only 50% Massie, though Massie is a pretty dominant characteristic. Emily (Lucy's mom) and Rachel (WT's wife, mom to Frankie and Bess) play their roles in shaping the girls, and they do a phenomenal job, too. My nieces are fabulous people, and I love them to pieces, but I'd think they were some of the raddest kids on earth even if they weren't mini-megs. The little games my brother plays with them, their little routines, are just so unbelievably adorable. He teaches them refrains from popular music, and cues it up for them so that they communicate in the most hilarious ways. If the answer to a question is "no," they answer Amy Winehouse "Rehab" style, singing "No, no, no." If you ask Frankie what's on her mind, she'll tell you "I got my mind on my money and my money on my mind."
He takes the girls to protests and gets them involved in social justice. They held signs at Occupy Wall Street, and have marched in picket lines with teachers for education reform. And they're not just little robots that my brother tells to hold a sign and they do it -- he's teaching them why they're there, and they know more than most Americans do about many current issues. He doesn't tell them "we believe ____." He tells them "___ is going on. Do you think that's fair? What do you think is the problem with that?" He was a national debate champion, after all. He's raising them to use logic and reason.
All three girls look very much like I did as a kid, and I guess the resemblance is still evident in my adult face. But I think they're going to grow up to far surpass me in awesomeness. No matter what they do, though, I'm going to love the tar out of them for ever and ever because nothing in this world is better than being Aunt Meg. And they're the ones who turned me into her.