Thanksgiving - Chattanooga, TN
Being around my brother has always made me feel like a kid.
I feel for people who never had a youth, but I am decidedly not one of them.
My brother and I spent about 10-15 years "terrorizing the neighborhood".
By that, I mean we imagined terrorizing the neighborhood and mostly spent our time riding BMX bikes around the bayous of Houston.
We would collect scrap wood from suburban construction sites and courier it back to our treehouse.
We would pull inoperable go-carts out of the mud and push them back to our garage, where we would rebuild them and then race around the neighborhood, two boys aboard a one-man machine.
We would re-enact scenes of the sandlot and play capture the flag until the street lights came on.
We were all the things boys can be.
It's not a stretch to say that I conceived most of these adventures.
Still, I rarely went alone.
I don't fantasize about going back. But I am thankful for the memories.
At the end of the string of memories that I associate with youth, I remember the feeling of realizing my siblings were looking up to me.
My sister wrote me a letter once about my "withdrawing".
In her defense, she wasn't the only one.
Part of that was me being a selfish, self-centered teenager.
Part of that was me being a protective, older brother.
My method was as crude as you would expect from a young, male mind.
It was around that same time that my brother began reaaally exploring some of his own hobbies and all of the accessories that are definitely, 100%, absolutely required.
Like... fly-fishing for catfish in the man-made lakes around our neighborhood... in waders and one of those hats you keep extra lures in.
A Holiday Story Favorite ™
Or attempting to build "free-energy" machines... with neodymium magnets and low friction bearings.
So close...
(He now has a degree in Physics, and knows better)
Now in our 30's, my brother is a father.
That hasn't changed him.
But it has shaped his world and requisite gadgets.
Full-Suspension Downhill Race Bike = Running Stroller with Brakes
It hasn't changed me, being an uncle.
But it has made me aware of a part of myself that I haven't truly connected with in 10-15 years.
I won't reveal my equivalencies publicly. But I'm hoping my methods have evolved.
We have graduated (of course) to full-sized cars and real guns (and actual houses).
Not raised to be quitters, we still pull over to check the price on 85cc dirt-bikes that would be perfect for crushing the trail he has cut into his yard, complete with berms.He keeps it maintained with a Toro Leaf Blower.
Gas-powered.
In a spell of boy-ish ambition, my brother blew up the engine in his already fast car by customizing it, tuning it for a little extra.
In his defense, I know all too well the cloud of that spell. #becauseracecar
Rather than give up, he joined an association and bought an engine.
And then swapped it in his garage.
There was a time when he would have looked to me for some level of approval.
And seeing him do this "just because he wanted to" was a relief of sorts.
1. Not many people have that level of gumption
2. I know I wasn't just dragging him along all those years
It's not like I forced him to join me, but a person wonders.
So, "How was Thanksgiving?" --
I rocked my nephew on the front porch, harmonizing with my brother's overkill leaf blower.
I held a photo-shoot of my nephew with my mother. #becausechristmascards
I shared a couple moments of holiday-sarcasm with my sister-in-law. (don't finish the joke...!)
And I helped pull the oil pan off my brother's busted engine in search of a (fingers-crossed) bent rod.
Basically, I joined in on adventures that I wasn't leading.
Luckily, it was just a bent rod.
Totally rebuildable.
My brother was relieved.
I was relieved.
My sister-in-law was even relieved.
My mom isn't one for overdrawn metaphors, but if she was, she would be relieved as well.
We may not be engines, but I feel for them.
And I'm thankful for the ones that are rebuildable.