Bent Words

Bent Words

March 22, 2006

I love my big brother. He's a grand guy with an offensive sense of humor, a black belt in beating the crap out of his sister and has recently done the world a disservice by procreating.

Actually, it's not all that recent as my nieces are now almost four and two. And it's not really a disservice seeing as I consider these two darling rug rats as a divine opportunity for payback.

"Now, go over to your Daddy and scream really loud until he gives you a Snicker's bar, sweetie," I often whisper to my eldest niece when I visit.

"Okay, Allison, time to play the "Kick Daddy Where it Counts" game!"

Next, I plan to teach the girls some great expletives which could only make a father proud...

Believe me, he deserves it.

Being seven years my senior, my brother has always been the person I look up to. He has been my model of inspiration, my babysitter when I lost the note to my real, non-ninja chopping babysitter and the reason that I have not been able to sleep in the dark since I was three.

He was there to paddle me over the head when I four and tried to mimick him by peeing standing up behind the bushes in our back yard.

He was there to pick me up after he had run over me with my father's car.

He was there when I needed a good Chinese Star to the forehead.

And he was there, hiding on top of the refrigerator, ready to pounce, after I had forgotten to get on the bus that went to my babysitter's house and instead accidently came home.

Still, despite all of this, we somehow manage to get along. I bring him sacraficial offerings of food and booze and he vows not to kill me for teaching his girls to repeatedly state that "Daddy stinks" while he's in the bathroom.

We're actually almost friends these days. He asks me how I've been, comments on my stories and only threatens me with his first when I've actually asked for it.

But the biggest shock of them all isn't that he laughs at my jokes, calls to check up on me or that he remembers my birthday. And the biggest shock isn't the amount of blood he managed to draw from my body when we were children or the number of spiders he could scrounge up to put in my bed at night.

No. The biggest shock of them all occurred a few weeks ago when we were all gathered at our parent's house and he said,

"Hey, Laura. I wouldn't mind having a nephew someday."

Written at 6:24 p.m.