We could not have been born further apart in the calendar year ~ he arrived on February 25 and I was at the other end of the seasons on August 24. It was as if we were destined to be opposites, and no amount of work or effort would, or could, change that. Yet for all of that, I only have one brother, and I love him like only a brother could. He remains the single person on this earth who went through the same exact experiences of growing up that I did, he knows all the family secrets that I know, and he remembers things that I’m starting to forget. There’s an unbreakable bond in all of that, and despite our arguments over the years we’ve settled into a friendship of sorts. (Even when that friendship is tested, we’re still brothers. Nothing can alter that.)
Today, I wish him a very Happy 40th Birthday – yes, my baby brother is 40, and that leaves a bit of a sting on both of us. We’ve come a long way since the days of clowns (he had one named Shrinking Violet at one of his birthday parties) and Chuck E. Cheese (I still have nightmares of all those balls), but in so many ways we’re the same boys who snuck into each other’s rooms at night, not willing to end the day apart, not wanting to turn the light off on childhood, on our time together.
Happy Birthday, bro.
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