The Lil Person at Home

My brother J and I are seven years apart. As kids, that’s a huge gap. A seven year old wants nothing to do with a newborn. At least, not once the initial excitement has passed and you realise your brother is a) younger b) too little to be of any actual use c) hogging all the attention.

Pre Teen Me had bigger things on her mind than the 5 year old who sucked his thumb and watched cartoon till his brains oozed out his ears. Then it was boarding school, being an obnoxious teen, college, university, job, marriage, life. Then we spent this summer together.

I’m mildly insomniac so there would be nights I’d sneak into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, green tea, snack. He would hear me blundering around and come to investigate the source of the racket. Then I would ask him if he wanted some insert- beverage- of-your-choice. The answer would always be Yes. Turns out he’s insomniac too. Some days he’d beat me to kitchen and would make a cup of whatever he was drinking because he knew I’d be along shortly. He’d perch on the kitchen platform and I’d sprawl on the floor. And we’d talk. About everything. He calmed me while I wailed all over the kitchen floor about the dismal state of my job. I listened while he told me what he really wanted to do with his life if he ever got the courage to face my dad and go for it. We shared some common disappointments and (I’m a little ashamed to say) grudges against the parents. We shared our love for anything to with making and eating food. We watched Adam eat so much I felt the need to take some antacid and Digiene to help with his digestion. I sought his company late into the night regardless of the hour, uncaring that tomorrow was a working day. I knew that this chance for me to spend time with him was a rare gift and opportunity to know more about the person beyond the title ‘my brother’ and I wasn’t going to miss out on it, sleep or no sleep.

And when we rolled a joint and passed it around (That 70’s show style) between J, AD and me, the seven years between us (eight and a half for the husband) really didn’t matter so much anymore. This was a grown up person – and a really especially awesome one at that.

Sometimes I think back and wonder whether I was there enough when he was little for him to have good memories of me. Then I remembered this one. I’m not sure I was a good sibling growing up. I hope to do better now. I don’t want to be standing on the outside when my brother’s living his life. I want to be right in the middle of it whether he wants it or not. And it’s not just because he’s the only family I have after the parents. Because people like him are very rare, at any age, and I don’t want to miss out on having a person like that in my life. The Lil Person did good.