I rarely talk about him, but when I do, it’s the Hostess Snoball story I tell, about his sweet heart and how he wanted to share everything with me, including his package of Snoballs (I was ten, he was seven). Me? I felt as if I never had enough to give away. (In fact, with that package of pink-and-white mounds of sugar and marshmallow, I’d eaten both without telling him). Anyway, it turns out that we are friends now and that life on earth would have been so lonely without him. He teaches me about generosity (still), about even-temperedness (maybe in my next life), about willingness, still, to share anything—particularly and especially, the food on his plate (but pretty much, anything at all). Also, he makes me laugh quicker and harder than anyone. One look exchanged between us and I’m off on a giggling tear and no one else knows why. I always wished I had a sister. Now, I can’t believe my good fortune at having a brother. This very one.
One response to “My brother and me. …”
All these years and I have just discovered your Blog. I love it. It is wonderful to see so many facets of you. Much love, jo