My little brother
Can I just say how proud I am of my little brother?
See, Bryan is this big hulk of a man. His calves are as big around as my head. He's three years my junior, and for awhile, I beat him daily. He was a squirrelly kid with buck teeth and a buzz cut. He is still EIGHT in my mind, and I can't get my brain around him being grownup, with a home and a wife and a kickass job. I mean, eight year olds don't have sex or mow the lawn. Not.Okay.
But my Beezer Man wasn't always sucessful. He had a string of jobs that always seemed beneath him, following his few failed attempts at college. He's been through the illegal pleasures in life and managed to come out relatively unscathed. He and I never really connected as young people. After our parents' divorce, he withdrew to the basement and played D&D with friends, I acted out. I was the "smart one", he was the "funny one". He has this amazing charm that will get him out of any predicament that I always envied. And if nothing else, he's a bit of mom's favorite and can still get money if he needs it.
But after all that teasing...I mean a grown man who goes to Gaming Conventions? He's now the MASTAH of these conventions. He sits behind the booth and signs autograps. Because he is now a writer for this company and gets paid a good lot to do what he loves. He's a writer. And he's freaking good at it. He can't tell you who was president when America went to which war, but ask him about the Earth/Minbari war from Babylon 5, and he can tell you history in such detail you'll feel like sticking an eight sided die in each ear until his lips stop moving.
But damn, good for him. I'm an artist too, and don't get paid squat. I get to do it twice a year if I'm lucky, he gets to do it every day. And his company just sent him on a three month trip to Oslo, Norway. To write dialog for a VIDEO GAME. Dude. How freaking cool is that? Don't tell him I think so, though. Because heaven forbid I might actually go buy and play said game. Or even know what an eight sided die looks like, as referenced above. Or that I sometimes enjoy a quiet game of Puerto Rico or Settlers of Catan with neighbors on a Saturday night. Don't tell.
He's done all of this, but I can't get right with him being grown. He's still EIGHT, you know? He's still running around our house in frozen underwear, knocking on doors and pleading to be let in. I am not sure which evil big sister tricked him into putting them on and then pushed him outside, but damn, she was a b-i-t-c-h. He's still bugging me and my friends with his crazy faces and goony jokes. He's still going through his "I'm a scary Goth" phase, with his Jesus hair and his long black trench. He's still living in a flop house at Purdue, with freakish friends who have no jobs crash on his floor.
Who am I kidding? He's a grownup man now. One that I am immensely proud of. One I wish I could be closer with. You need to understan that The Little Prince? Is.my.brother.reincarnated. The same charm, the same devilish twinkle in his eye, and always the comedian. BryGuy doesn't have children yet...I pray he will, just because how much FUN are those kids going to have with my brother for a dad? And now I know how my little man might turn out. I will still give him hell if he plays dorky role playing games, but quietly I'll know it just may lead to something good.
And Bryan? After his final visit to my home before leaving for Norway, I discovered he'd left me a gift: that Big Bastard froze one of my bras and draped it across the freezer door.
Damn I love that guy. Cheers to you, BrubbaMan. You done good.