A Friend Is A Brother Who Was Once A Bother

When I was eight years old, my family went on a road trip of sorts along the East Coast. "Of sorts" because an eight-year-old, a five-year-old, a man who doesn't believe in rest stops, and a woman who can't sit still for more than five minutes isn't exactly the formula for the world's greatest road trip. So it may not be surprising that somewhere between the U.S. Capitol and Blacksburg, Virginia, my brother reached across the back seat and scratched my face. I still have the scar to prove it. Before you feel any sympathy towards me, let me just say that in some capacity, I'm sure I deserved it.

My relationship with my brother, like that of most siblings, has ridden life's roller coaster (Boy Meets World FTW). When my brother was born, I was thrilled. After all, in the eyes of a three-year-old, what's not to love about a one-of-a-kind real-life doll?

...And then the terror years struck. We were out of control. We would get into physical fights that could have been aired on WWE. Then, after the war-zone years were the Olympics years -- everything was a competition. My brother, three years younger than I, competed with me for everything from parental attention to riding a bike to playing piano. Needless to say, tempers ran high.

We also had our (and seventeen other siblings') share of verbal spats. I remember one particular Saturday morning, my brother and I were at Schroeder's for a haircut. We were making a scene as usual and I was winning (as usual?). The barber looked at me and said in the most matter-of-fact tone, "Enjoy this now. Because soon he'll be taller than you and it'll all be over."

And it happened. One fine day I looked at him and realized that he was taller than me. But it wasn't all over; it was just beginning. Somewhere in his growth spurt (or my stunt?), maybe it was in discussing our nervousness about the upcoming piano recital, maybe it was in his silent appreciation that I never told my parents when I saw him on time-out on the playground, maybe it was in my helping him with last minute projects or in his tutoring me in Calculus, we became friends.

Ten years after that fateful East Coast trip, we found ourselves on a better coast, but still on a road trip, and I was still in pain. Though this time, it wasn't from the searing pain of a scratch on my face, but from the stomach cramps that define a good laugh.

My parents have always told us stories about their siblings when they were younger and living together, and as my brother heads off to college, I worry that those "younger days" have come to an end for us as well.

But as I sit here at the dining table that was both our battlefield and our peace conference, I'm realizing that the end of the younger days doesn't negate the fact that we are siblings. Considering we used to video chat with each other while sitting together at this table, video chatting from our respective colleges or homes won't be much different (video is the way of the future). Family is family, and distance has nothing on that bond.

Edit: Actually, distance has one thing on that bond: Now when I receive calls at 5 AM EST to edit an essay, it'll be 5 AM for him as well.