I have a little brother. Well, I say little. He’s 17. And bigger than me. He’s in a band. He’s ten times cooler than I ever was in high school. Or hell, now. I’ll bet next year my students are going to be all, “Dude. This chick blows. But her brother looks like a good time.”*
But in my head he’s three years old and doing tricks with his pacifier.
Anyway, throughout our lives, I have served mainly only to embarrass him. When we were little I was fond of dressing him in old bridesmaid dresses. There was that period where I made him to my errands for me.** When he hit puberty, I became very fond of talking about all stages of the menstrual cycle because it’s fun to watch his entire face turn green.
Lately, I’ve taken to yelling “Seminary!” at him at random intervals. Because so help me God, that kid will end up at St. Francis de Sales if I have to hog tie him.***
(YES, I said hog tie. I live in Grafton.)
ANYWAY. Yesterday he had a not-senior-picture photo shoot, because it was free. And he had a tux. Because he’s going to prom. See? Again with the much-more-popular than I ever was thing.
So he’s doing his thing, looking adorable, and I’m totally turning into my sister. Seriously. He looks awesome. And I mean that in the least narcissistic way possible, because I’ve been told we all look alike even though I don’t see it. So I’m basically squeeing like a fangirl and my mom is crying because her baby! Is grown up! And standing with one hand in his pocket casually! With his jacket slung over his shoulder!****
And then I leaned down to my mom and whispered, “He’s going to be such a Father What-a-Waste.”
She laughed really hard. John, upon learning of this a little bit later? Not so much.
Whatever. That’s my boy!
*No, I don’t know why my students would know my brother. Except that it works in that paragraph.
**That ended sometime last week, I think
***I’m all in favor of legitimate vocations. Unless you’re my brother and will marry someone I don’t like who may want to take jewelry that’s going to my daughters. Then I’m going all medieval on you.
****Okay. That pose annoyed me a little. It was a little bit too suave. Clearly this guy had never seen John go down on a plate of lasagna.