Growing Up Without a Brother

I can't complain that I didn't have things as a child; I did.

I always had my sisters; they were good to have. No complaints. And, of course: parents! I had two (and later four), so I was definitely blessed with them. Adults are cool. And they stayed my parents and sisters for a life time.

Me being a boy, however, over the course of my life, I thought it would be nice to have a brother. I saw quite a few families with a good number of brothers: the Aults, the Johnsons, the Samulesons, the Neals, the Matthews, the Smiths, the Murrays, and on and on...

There was even the King family who had nine kids. I couldn't count how many brothers they had; I remember one in the middle, a little older than me, doing the brotherly thing at the pool, convincing me to jump off the high dive. He was used to being a brother: Risk and peer pressure are par for the course in brotherhood. 

Lots of brothers. More risks. More pressures. Maybe I was lucky?

Growing up on Manor Road, I mostly slept in a room by myself, which a lot of people do...I call it what it was: normality. But there were a few times when I had some surrogate brothers for significant periods. They would come and go, and I suppose I got used to that.

But even my new friend in fourth grade, Pete Hoff, had a little brother named Tom. (They may have shared a room until a house addition.) We so enjoyed teasing and making fun of little Tom. Like my lessons in friendship with other little buddies, Ian Noyes down the street, Jonny Hoole across the street, or Jonathan Murray's little brother Christopher. For a few years, I think Ian, who lived with his sister and mom only, was like a brother to me. But he left by the time I was in third grade. We visited across town a couple more years, but like all fraternal fellows, it was time to move on.

Brothers come and go. In my experience.

My family tried a few times, like looking into adoption for a couple little guys, but that didn't work.

As I mentioned, I grew close to some young boys in an almost brotherly way. From second grade to fifth grade I had some foster brothers, both in the form of toddlers and some older ones I could play with. And as foster brothers go, they went. It was fun, but they were no longer my brothers.

I had church and school and neighborhood and Scouting brothers. We would end up doing sleepovers or camping trips, and perhaps some of them felt like brothers; some of them I felt close to when they they stayed at my house, or me at their homes, almost a closeness that I felt with the foster brothers that I would share a room with.

Middle school saw some new friends, and old friends, and by high school, many old friends and I were going separate ways. Some moved, which changed previous relationships, affecting me. Like Arnold (I changed his real name)who moved with his family, and his best soul-mate buddy, who was left behind in Bloomington, ended up being my best friend for the next year. And then that changed.

Brothers and buddies were coming and going. That did not change.

Going on a two year mission was an amazing exercise in brotherhood, for sure. Some of my missionary companions seemed like brothers for years. It helped that I was able to return a few years later and see and speak to some of them. But Chile is a place far away and ultimately those brotherhood feelings grow more distant and become strained and constrained and practically forgotten. And the American companions were all right, but by and large not the same in fraternal closeness to me as the Chileans were, by and large.

But funny thing, life; when you thought  your old friend Arnold (again, borrowed name, from a brother on a popular 70s sitcom) had moved away, with his three brothers, who also seemed brotherly to me, especially the second youngest one who was my age., The second oldest was naturally the one to hang out with in the past and even into the adult years, because we were young Scouting buddies and cohorts, and later after our missions in college. Suffice it say, Arnold, the older brother of the former, married my sister. Here was real kind of brother!

A new brother-in-law while I was 20, but a former friend to boot. And he married the sister I was closer to, and they proceeded to have children, my first nieces. So, we would hang out in my hometown, with me or with my parents, or both. And then, I would visit my sister and him and their children in distant places like New York, New Jersey, Boston and California, where I had moved, too. And then I got married, while we would still spend time with my sister and Arnold (brother-in-law), hoping our kids, as cousins, would enjoy themselves as family. And that was the closest relationship to having a brother that I think I ever had.

And then time passed, and things went south.

An abrupt end, in a way.

But still not final. (More later...)

Blog it, EMC.