I have one sibling. A brother seven years younger. Ironically, his name starts with a B. I can’t remember when he was little. For that matter, I can’t really remember when I was little. How much are we supposed to remember about our childhood? I don’t know. I wonder if there’s something unhealthy about not remembering.
Seven years is a lot. Sometimes I don’t think brother and I have much in common, then at other times, I realize we do. Often, I don’t feel we really know each other. That makes sense. He lives in one state and I live in another. He never left our hometown except when he went to college; but then again, he’s a world traveler.
During our adult years, we’ve only spent time together during holidays. I’ve gone to his kids’ graduations and weddings. He came to my daughter’s graduation in Louisiana. And once he stayed up all night playing Nintendo with my stepson. All night. Mario Brothers didn’t have a chance!Brother even called the help hotline when they ran into a problem. He has always been … focussed.


Here’s a picture of my brother’s hand holding my mother’s.
Have you ever looked at your brother or sister, or mom or dad, and noticed something you’d never noticed before? How did it affect you?