To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other’s hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time.
- Clara Ortega
Growing up, there were times when I questioned God’s wisdom in creating brothers. My younger brother took great pleasure in teasing and tormenting my sister and me. He stuffed plastic worms in the bathtub faucet so that they would spew forth when I was sent up to take my bath. He read our diaries. He revealed our deepest, darkest secrets to friends and foes. He snuck up behind us and mussed our carefully coifed and sprayed hair. He even showed our naked baby pictures to potential boyfriends. In my eyes and those of my sister, our little brother could be a spoiled, rotten pest! Through the years, my sister and I endured a great deal from our little brother who all too soon grew to be taller than each of us. But while his physical stature may have matured, we both secretly wondered if his emotional maturity would ever match that which we most assuredly possessed. It took many years for us to realize that indeed it had.
When my oldest sister announced that she was getting married, her announcement was met with mixed feelings. While we certainly wanted her to have the happiness and joy associated with marriage, our family was in the midst of a trying time. My father had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. The good days were becoming far less frequent and the bad much more common. Many days, Daddy, who should have been in the prime of life - in his mid-forties with three grown, successful children and a beautiful granddaughter – was resigned to hobble around with a cane, if he was able to hobble around at all. We all knew that the possibility of Daddy walking my sister down the aisle was slim.
While each of us silently contemplated the situation at first, as the wedding day approached, a discussion among the family was inevitable. Like so many future brides, my sister envisioned herself in white satin walking down the aisle on her father’s arm. But as the MS continued to wreak havoc on Daddy’s weakening body, it became evident that, despite all efforts to scale down the ceremony and make it as private an affair as possible, Daddy simply would not have the strength to walk down the aisle with his firstborn child. Furthermore, his pride, which was all he had left, would not permit the use of a wheelchair. Daddy was devastated. My sister was heartbroken.
And that is when I discovered that my little brother had indeed reached maturity. Without hesitation, he announced that he had been trying to give his sisters away for years. He assured us that he knew exactly what to do. So on a cold, blustery February day, my sister, an absolute vision in white satin, walked down the aisle on my tall, handsome brother’s arm. He held his head high as he stopped beside my father’s chair, standing right beside the seated man whom I suddenly realized he was so much like. When the preacher asked, “Who gives this woman to this man?” my brother quietly turned and helped my father rise and take his daughter’s arm. In a proud voice, my father announced, “Her mother and I.” A daughter’s vision and father’s duty were fulfilled.
Daddy passed away less than two years later, succumbing not only to the multiple sclerosis, but cancer as well. Daddy left a very big pair of shoes for my little brother to fill, but my brother had already shown, despite his antics, that they were a good fit. In the years that have passed, he has on many occasions taken on the responsibilities that only a fine and good man could. Daddy would be proud of his boy, my younger brother. I am, too.
As my sister, brother and I enter our forties, there are still times when my brother is every bit the pesky little brother from our youth. At family gatherings, he still insists on mussing my hair. (These days, however, there is less to muss.) He takes immense pleasure in persuading my two children to do the very things that he knows I would never allow, like drinking sodas high in caffeine and eating chocolate before bedtime. He even torments my neurotic dogs. I am, however, still the older and wiser sister. He has three children and a larger, even more neurotic dog. I just get even.
- Terri Duncan