Last night I emailed my big-little brother for some much needed advice. When did that happen? I didn’t need advice.
I was the bossy one. I was the one that knew everything. I was the one that could scream at him, tell him what to do and when to do it. While we waited for the bus each morning I seized the opportunity to pinch the beejesus out of him and force him to stand in a certain box formed by cracks in the pavement. Why? Well, I felt like he was misbehaving at the bus stop… we stood by ourselves at the end of our driveway.
Sorry Mom. Even sorrier big-little brother.
Ok. I lied. I’ve always needed advice…even if it came from my big-little brother. I’m fairly certain that he suggested using something other than the leaves from a poison ivy plant as “traffic tickets” for my make believe bicycle-game of cops and speeders. I was the cop. He was the speeder. I got the poison ivy.
I think he was really against eating my “soup” made from poke salad. I got my way. He got sick. Can I go to jail for this?
He was always the best judge of character when it came to friends…and “not friends.” I can say that now. I definitely didn’t listen back then.
My big-little brother is incredibly philosophical. He can tell you what he thinks in the most tactful way. His speech is flavored with hilarity; you just have to be intelligent to get it.
All of this to say, that he has always been a trusted advisor. I miss the days when he could dish out his advice over a couple of ice cold 40s and a bowl of scrambled eggs.