Apparently today is National Siblings Day. I’ve never heard of this made-up holiday, but I’m a little upset it isn’t celebrated with cake and a day off work.
Isn’t that the best way to honor our siblings?
I learned of this day through Twitter, as it certainly wasn’t through my own sibling. I was unaware of the holiday, as
Us Weekly the respected periodicals I read made no mention of this occasion.
Thus, I have no idea what it means, although I’m sure it requires purchasing gifts for your older sibling. That seems like the right way to celebrate.
I’m anxiously awaiting my UPS delivery.
I have one very lucky younger brother, Smohawk (not his real name). I say he’s lucky because, I mean, duh. He’s my younger brother.
However, I suspect he probably doesn’t see it that way, mostly because it must have been devastating growing up in the shadow of such an inspiring older sister.
I’m not sure what the point of National Siblings Day is, but I can only assume it’s a day to reflect upon your siblings. Thus, I will do so by telling you a story about him.
I have so many stories about him that I don’t know where to start. Since he has a daughter who is the love of my life, I will keep the story nice, so as not to affect my visitation rights with her. If she didn’t exist, however, it would be “game on.”
I’m two years older than my brother, which means I was the boss growing up. Actually, I’m sure even if I was the younger sister, I’d still be the boss.
There was never a question about who the boss was in our house.
If only Tony Danza could have suffered that same fate. But when it came to growing up with me, there were no Tony Danza issues other than the age-old question of whether he made a better housekeeper than Mr. Belvedere. (He didn’t.)
Since I was
an oppressive a thoughtful older sister, I frequently made him do things he didn’t want to do. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, as I boss you guys around all the time. You like it.
I suspect my brother did what I told him to because I was scary and he feared my wrath. He was a smart kid.
So when we were younger and home for the summer, he always wanted to watch The Price is Right.
I loved the show and didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to watch it every day. Obviously my brother was unpatriotic since he hated learning about our nation’s history and didn’t appreciate getting nuggets of wisdom from Ma and Pa.
Despite my brother’s clear disdain for all things American, he sat and watched this show with me every day, instead of watching what he’d prefer to watch, The Price is Right.
I realize he stayed and watched because he was scared of me, and because I sat on his feet so he couldn’t get up. Didn’t he know I was trying to teach him about life on the prairie, dammnit?
I was basically giving him a history lesson and all he wanted to do was watch Bob Barker hold his skinny microphone.
NOTE: “Skinny microphone” isn’t a euphemism for something else. He literally had a slim microphone.
I didn’t have a bathroom pass to give him, but he knew by the look in my eye there would be no excuses for missing even a second of Nellie Olsen and her manipulative antics.
The way my brother tells it, I was cruel and mean. I disagree. I mean, sure, I was strict about the television program he viewed, but I wanted him to be prepared for life, and the numerous runaway buggies and inadvertent barn fires that can occur if one isn’t careful.
But mean? No. Was his breakfast contingent on whether he watched each episode and then provide a written recap? Of course it was. Isn’t that what all younger brothers do?
So I guess today I will celebrate my younger brother, Smohawk, who I’m sure is living a better life today because he learned how to take precautions to prevent scarlet fever and dysentery.
You’re welcome, my dear brother. You’re welcome.