Last May I met my family in Green Bay for a weekend trip. My mom, brother, aunts and cousins convened to see Styx and REO Speedwagon (take it on the run, baaaaaaby, if that's the way you want it, baaaaby) and enjoy some time together.
The second night we went to a distant family members' bar in the middle of nowhere. Drinks were downed, darts were thrown, laughs were had. Somewhere in the middle of it all, my brother and I realized we had the exact same favorite band.
You guys, this was some serious news. It made me deliriously happy to learn that.
You see, my brother and I are like oranges and apples--always have been. That's not to say that we aren't close or have absolutely nothing in common--it's just to say that we are very, very different from one another, and if it weren't for the fact that we were both undeniably offsprung and raised by the same people (Exhibit A: the hair. Exhibit B: the temper), you would be hard-pressed to find many similarities between us.
He catches fish for fun; I order them raw in sushi.
Herein lies the monumentality in discovering we have the same jam band in common.
This post is about to get sentimental, and then super-sentimental.
I bought my brother tickets to see Slightly Stoopid for his birthday, and he came to spend St. Patty's weekend in Chicago. I realized over the weekend that my brother and I, now both certifiable adults, are actually quite similar.
I mean, we're obviously blessed with great genes.
While in some ways we wear our hearts on our sleeves, I can guarantee that at any given moment, we're both probably thinking things through more than you think we are. We'd give you the shirts off our backs if you needed them. We can overlook a lot of bullshit, but I'd suggest you get out of our way if we're really pissed.
Our first reaction is to trust. Our second is to give the benefit of the doubt. And when we fall, we commit to it, no safety net, geronimo, baby!
And, just like Slightly Stoopid, you'll struggle to define us, because we're probably going to change your mind at some point.
Here's a few lessons I've learned from being Jakerman's sister:
- Swirlies are mean. Really, really mean. They only become funny 10+ years later, and only with the permission of the swirled.
- People who love you will forgive you a lot of stupid shit. (See also: Swirlies.)
- You can hate someone's guts and tell them all the most terrible things about themselves, and the next morning, they're just like, "Hey. Sup. Love you. Pass the syrup."
- Vice versa is true as well: It always hurts the most coming from your sibling, but it's also the most quickly digested coming that way.
- You're not the center of the universe, Little Miss Marie. And it's better off that way.
- Blood is thicker than water.
- Being an older sibling will always sort of feel like too big of a job to fill.
- Conversely, having a younger sibling makes you feel like you're the employee of the month, every month.
- A human's capacity to grow and change is astounding. But so is the way they always, in certain ways, stay the same person they were from birth.
- Knowing someone for their entire life is so beautiful.
- Having someone who knows your entire history is really comforting. Not needing to explain yourself is a gift, and it's one that only family can give you.
- Even though I hope he'll never have to, having zero doubt that someone would absolutely bury anyone who mistreats you is a very nice feeling. This is my brother, Jake. He has fourteen guns, a big truck, and a camp with a lot of land.
- "Loyalty is everything." And he's got the tat to prove it.
Happy Birthday, Jakerdoodle. You're the funniest, most loyal person I know. You're the absolute best a sister could ask for.
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