"The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life." Richard Bach
The Brothers
Women out there—do you ever think back to when you were on the verge of being thirteen? Were you sophisticated and “hep” or were you like I was—a little awkward and nervous about boys and life situations? I have written before that I was an only child and quite often I yearned for an older brother so he could bring boys home for dinner and visits. I could mingle with or at the very least observe these young men--you know, to try out any cool “girl moves” I might have formulated.
When I was thirteen-ish, and had no brother, instead I hit a bonanza in the “boy” department. Six young men became our neighbors—all six in one family—a nest of testosterone. Suffice it to say that six males hitting the neighborhood was enough to pique the curiosity of every young woman in a ten-mile radius.
A few girlfriends and I got together to reconnoiter and scope out these new residents like generals planning the Normandy invasion. Of course we should not all go by their home at once; of course we should look our “chicest” and most alluring; and most importantly, we should at all times remain nonchalant.
We could handle the first two counts, but like with all good battles we encountered our share of flaws, especially on that “nonchalant” part. We each went by to see their Mom, with a special welcome, but our visits dissolved into blushes and giggles ultimately and we secretly cursed ourselves for our girlish vulnerability, our lack of sophistication.
But that still did not deter us from the DIVISION of the boys, after we had inventoried each new face. Who would get Gibby (16), Mike (14), Billy (12), Donnie (9), Sonny (7) or Bobby (4)? We approached “cat fight” status on this next step, but we finally each managed to “stake out” the man of our dreams. All this was taking place, I might add, without their knowledge. Of course we knew who/what was best for them—we were women of action.
I chose Mike—I was 12 and he was 14—it worked for me. Of course it did not matter to me that Mike was busy chasing more buxom nymphets—time would allow him to see the error of his ways. Surely he would realize what a sensitive, intelligent, witty and caring person I was. I mean that’s essentially what a good man wants, right? Oh, the hubris of youth.
My particular ploy to see this menagerie of pec-laden guys was to visit their Mom to assist with cleaning. And clean I did. You can just imagine how messy the six dwarves could be with the stair-step ages I mentioned. I did tons of cleaning and no one noticed me. I once even dressed up on the pretense that my family had an engagement, but still no one looked. I think I could have stripped to my undies and pirouetted through their house and no one would have blinked. No, they were drawn by those nymphets who had cleavage and could wear lipstick.
Flash forward about 31 years. We are headed to a church for the weeding of Billy’s daughter. We? My 16-year-old daughter and moi, the sensitive, intelligent, witty and caring one.
Years have passed at this point. I have chased all six with a broom for messing up what I cleaned. I have been asked on a date at 17 by Mike—just a trick, I figured. I have been their sometime sister and confidante. I know their wives and children. Our mothers have died and we all survived those sad times together. And I have seen them get jobs or assume careers. Gibby joined the Army and became a Master Sergeant, Mike (my guy) worked as a public relations guy for Delta. Billy, a young man who was never seen without a baseball bat in his hands, joined the Marines and planned to retire there and start his second career. Donnie started his own business. Sonny had a series of jobs, a jack of all trades. Bobbie, the little guy who used to cook his own breakfast standing on a stool, was now about 6’2”.
So my daughter and I entered the church and found a seat on the bride’s side, for Billy’s daughter was getting married. But there was a “flurry” because my “brothers” had come to get us. Why weren’t we seated with the FAMILY?--they queried. What were we doing so near the back?! And so we sat with the family—my family—because they were the brothers I never had. They were my guys. They said they wanted their “sister” with them.
Dinner followed and we still stayed with the family for a small dinner out. It was very exclusive—only the chicest were in attendance. Just like Sally Field, I thought, “They like me, they really like me!”
And the years roll on and still I have brothers, only four now as the two older brothers have passed away. I don’t always see them, but I know one call for help and I would be surrounded by my guys. They really do say I am the "sister THEY never had." Now that warms the cockles of my heart, and I didn’t have to pirouette once.