Brothers

I remember my brother saying once, about a boy I was madly in love with at the time, “He would be a great guy, if he wasn’t dating my sister.”

Brothers.  They are quite a story.

Of course, my story about brothers is from the perspective of a sister.  People talk so much about a girl’s relationship with her father and how important it is in her future relationships.  I have no doubt that is true.  But, in retrospect, I also know a girl’s relationship with her brothers can have just as powerful an influence on her relationships with men, too.

My brothers and I played cars in the den.  We set up our own garages around the room – under the piano bench, under the skirts of chairs and sofas, beneath chests and coffee tables.  We acted out scenes and stories with Corvettes and Firebirds and Lamborghinis in the lead roles.

My brothers and I played G. I. Joe.  Well, they played G. I. Joe and I played Barbie and, at times, their two worlds mingled.

I remember playing spy.  We’d load ourselves down with canteens and flashlights and assorted supplies before we crawled through air ducts (under and between furniture) and snuck into darkened offices to rifle through imaginary filing cabinets.

Riding together in the backseat on long road trips, we giggled till I nearly wet my pants, making up personalized license plates with potty puns.  Mama and Daddy would fuss from the frontseat for us to quiet down.  It’s not safe.  We were distracting the driver.  We’d bite our lips and whisper for a minute or two before our laughter roared all over again.

My brothers taught me to play and laugh.  They taught me to appreciate boys for what they are.

I still learn from – and about – my brothers today.  Brothers, be they old or young – want to fix things.  They want to advise and counsel.  It’s their way of protecting.

Brothers send friends to look out for you on dates.  Brothers walk behind you and your friends to and from school.  Brothers silently watch you do stupid things and, years later, tell you it hurt them – even though you thought they didn’t care.

Brothers look upon sisters like a big mess of tears and ribbons and puffy hearts and nonsense.  But, that big mess is theirs for keeps.

I hope that brothers also look upon sisters as a soft heart that cares for them.  The first girl that ever loved them and thought of them as their own.  A girl that knows them to be a strong, capable man that carries inside him the heart of a baby boy.  The boy who cried at the sight of his mama crying and when his beloved pet lizard died.  Boys that suffered heartbreaks at the hands of girls like me. 

Boys that hug their sister and make it feel like home.

Boys and girls are so different.  But, on the inside – in the quiet little memories and spaces between their souls – brothers and sisters are really very much the same.