HBJD!

My brother, Patches and Anna's homemade cake

My brother makes me smile.  He always has.  He started out a cute, smiley baby with big, blue eyes and rosy cheeks... so pretty that people always thought he was a girl.  It didn't help that Mom didn't let him have a hair cut for the longest time because she loved his curls.  He was super cute although he cried a lot and was somewhat needy.

With Mom before he subscribed to GQ

Having significantly older sisters probably had its ups and downs.  He's had excellent taste in music from the beginning.  As a three-year-old, he could sing along to "Tainted Love" and Steve Miller Band's "The Joker".  Another time while studying a Pink Floyd CD cover, he asked my sister, "So... which one's Pink?"  He could sing along to Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy"-- how could I escape loving a preschooler that hilarious?

With the a-holes

Then again, there was the time he had to sit out a large portion of recess at First Wesleyan for calling another kid an asshole.  When his shocked and abhorred evangelical teacher asked him where he learned that word, he ratted us out: "My sisters call each other that all the time."  My mom found the situation amusing.  She told my sister and me something along the lines, "That's what you get for misbehaving."

When he was in elementary and I'd come home from school, I'd take him out to lunch.  By "take him out to lunch", I mean we'd walk to The Golden Palace for some Sweet and Sour Chicken and/or Broccoli Chicken in Brown Sauce with a side of fried rice and an egg roll.  It was pretty much as awesome as it sounds. On one of those outings, we composed a memorable song that went something along the lines, "Hush little puppy, don't you cry. We're gonna freeze than eat you."  There's much giggling in the refrain.  This song chronicled the demise of the other Chinese restaurant in town, which got shut down because-- you guessed it-- the health inspectors found dog meat in the freezer.  The owners swore it was for personal use.

Making friends in Las Vegas

He's always had an appreciation for sarcasm... even before he'd mastered it. One of his earliest forays into sarcasm consisted of him telling the ancient lady we shared a pew with, "You're old." After the service, we all took stabs at explaining that there's a difference among awkward, mean, and funny.  Then, finally, by the grace of God he discovered Frasier.  He found the show hilarious; he still calls me to share the highlights of the recent episode he's watched.

Another aspect of my brother I enjoy is his knowledge of ancient history.  It all began with his reading Fitzgerald's translation of Homer's Iliad in verse when he was a fifth grader.  He can chat Greek and Latin mythology and Greek and Roman Republic and Empire.  I love that my brother can make Scipio jokes and doesn't ask "Do you mean Pubic Wars?" (as several people have corrected me) when Punic Wars arrive on the discussion scene.  Similarly, I love that he owns a library card and reads real books alongside ESPN and GQ and the weird gaming magazines he subscribes.

Although I enjoy his keen wit, I respect his warm heart even more.  We have plenty of stories of when my brother's kindness got him into pickles.  As a little kid he befriended an older mentally delayed kid who would follow him around and not leave him alone.  Finally one day, my brother not knowing how to tactfully detach himself lied when the kid asked him who he was, my little brother answered, "Um, Bobby?"  My little brother's name ain't Bobby.  Why he chose it as his pseudonym I'll never know.

However, when I heard that the immigrant Latinos that work for him through a birthday party in the canteen for his 25th, I teared up.  They gave him four colognes and decorated.  What higher accolade is there?