Today is Jeffy’s birthday. At least that’s what he and I maintain. We’re not really sure. My dad claims it’s the 11th. My dad says he was there so he should know. Every year since I can remember, my dad has claimed the 11th is the day his son was born. As our mother, who was there also, is not in a position to argue this point, we can only go with the birth certificate. My dad has however, been adding a year to our ages since we could remember. This year Jeff’s 29, but he might as well be 30 because that’s what my dad is saying.
“Hey Jeff, how does it feel to be getting old? Thirty, eh?” My dad might not be the best source of info.
Sadly, with this confusion, Jeff will never obtain an accurate astrology chart.
I don’t want to take credit that I’m not due, but Jeff was born because I asked for a baby brother when I was four. As an only child at the time, I tended to get what I wanted. That and my mom just happened to get knocked up around that time.
I have to say, Jeff is one of the two best gifts my parents ever gave me. We fought like cats and dogs growing up, our physical fights legendary. I have a scar on my leg from his cowboy boots kicking me repeatedly in the same place and he has a scar on his cheek (much, much smaller than the scar on my leg) from a doorknob I just happen have directed in his direction, but we were loyal and united in the face of adversity.
That holds true even today. I’m 34 and when I get around my brother I can’t help but to pinch him. He does the same. Never, ever put us in the backseat of a car together. Those invisible lines always get crossed and we all know what happens if you don’t stay on you own side of the invisible line.
I have so many heart-warming stories, so many poignant moments with my brother I can’t figure out which one paints the picture he deserves. Like when he listened to Journey for more than 6 hours in a small a/c-less truck because I wanted to share Journey with him by analyzing the lyrics in relation to our lives and what it meant in terms of reincarnation (Uh, there might have been some sort of uh… mood enhancer for that discussion).
Or when as a little boy he was so happy when my mom told him she was re-marrying because the burden of “take care of your Mother” was just too much for his little pale shoulders.
Or how our little cousin loved Jeff so much he drew freckles on his arms so he’d look more like Jeffy.
Or how he makes me laugh non-stop even when denying me a bite of his ice cream (Give me a Bite!!). Or how he might get pissed off at me, but he never holds a grudge.
Or how he secretly loves me waking him up with the Wakey-Uppy song. Or how he was there with our sister for her chemo days, re-arranging his schedule and his life to make sure she was never alone. Or how he keeps so much inside, you just want to hug all the hurt out of him because he just so precious and dear.
Or how he punches really hard and how to never ever let him pin you down to do that spit thing because he always, always lets the loogy go. Or how he’s afraid of ducks and geese and spiders, but not much else.
Or how he simply understands me and my motivations and most of the time we can communicate without the use of words. Or how he was worried about accepting his promotion because of the new schedule and he didn’t know how we were going to have our weekly phone call.
Or how… Or how…
There are just too many wonderful things about that little brother of mine.
I guess all I want to say is that I love you, little brother. I’m very glad you were born and am thinking about you.
I’m in Hamburg today. Come back tomorrow for baby pictures. He was a cute little kid.