~~A3~~

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

What it means to have a little brother

I was watching my daughter (6) and my son (3) play together the other day and it got me thinking about my own little brother. We are 3 years apart. I have some really fun & tender memories of playing with him.

My parents got divorced when I was around 6 years old. We (us kids) were pretty much left to our own devices to entertain ourselves after school. When I was 10 or so I joined a softball team. All the other girls on the team had played together for years which meant I was the new one. Our coach was the Mother of one of my teammates and super hard core about the sport. She totally intimidated me. I was really tall, really skinny and really uncoordinated. 3 things that make playing just about any sport kind of awkward. To say the least - I wasn't good.

One of our first games was held on a weekday around 4:30pm making it pretty much impossible for my Mom to attend. I had to walk down to the game by myself, play and then make my way back home. Enter my sweet little brother into the equation. He volunteered to come with me. He was probably around 7 years old at the time.

As the game progressed it became more and more clear that it was going to come down to the wire. During the last inning, it was my turn to bat. "Strike one." My coach yelled at me to keep my eye on the ball. "Strike two." My coach stamped her foot and told me to FOCUS! "Strike three." I was so embarrassed, but more importantly, I was OUT. On my way back to the dugout I had to pass my coach. She was fuming. She smacked me on the butt when I passed her. It hurt. It wasn't a "hey buddy, better luck next time pat" but more like a "you suck" hit. I was so mortified and so upset. The tears instantly started to fall.

I couldn't bear to sit in the dugout with the rest of my teammates. I walked right past the dugout and headed straight for my little brother. He was already standing up, holding the blanket he brought to sit on. Without a word we walked out of the ball park, hand in hand. I cried the whole way home. I specifically remember him telling me that everything was going to be okay and that my coach was just mean and stupid.

I don't think I ever told my Mom the real reason I stopped playing softball. I know my little brother didn't either.

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We had a small family-owned water park in our neighborhood and to keep us busy, my Mom bought my brother and I summer passes. We went almost every single day. We would wake up, eat breakfast, change into our swimming suits and flip flops and walk to the park. It was probably about 1 mile each way. We had to cross a super busy road to get there and when it was time to cross, we'd hold hands and run across the road.

There was one run that you sat in tubes to go down. It was fast and rough and my brother did not like it. He hated when his face got wet, which was totally inevitable on this ride. He knew I liked it, so he always encouraged me to go. At one point during the ride you go underneath the spectator bridge and every single time, there would my brother, patiently waiting on the bridge, watching my progress. He was always there at the exit. I would turn in my tube and off we'd go to the blue slides that he liked better.

We would spend hours at this park and at the end of the day we'd walk back home. That is such a happy memory for me. Being so tired and so hungry, but in a good way. We played our guts out.

I can only hope that my daughter has the same relationship with her brother(s). They are, afterall, one of life's most awesome blessings. Thanks for being cool, J. I owe ya one. Or two, or like 30 million.