When I am asked how
many siblings I have I am obligated to reply with “only one” but that’s only
counting my one biological brother. In reality I have never had only one
brother. I have had many different brothers. Many of them have come into my
life and left, and eventually new brothers come into my life. But being
consistently in someone’s life is not a big part of being someone’s brother. A
brother is a playmate, a protector, a pest, a bully, and a parent.
My brother, James, always had many friends over and I
eventually adopted them as my secondary
brothers. When I was in middle school we would all play tag in the icy tundra of
my back yard in the winter. In the summer my parents would bring us to the
river and we would play Marco-Polo and push each other off of the large rocks
into the cool water. There were times when they made me so mad I thought I was
going to kill them and I would be lying if I said they were some of Woodstock’s
finest. In truth, they were thugs, even James, but when any one would spread
rumors or call them names like “wangsters” I would defend them, because they
were my brothers. This group of boys who I grew up with did not stay around for
long. By the time I started high school most of the group had parted from one
another. A few them kind of fell off the face of the Earth, one became a dad,
and recently I heard that one was arrested. But these boys who I grew up with
were, at one point, my brothers.
When I started high school there was a new group of boys
always at the house and soon they became my older brothers- my very protective
older brothers. I still hold to the fact that James had spies in the school;
after all he was a senior when I was a freshman and could not possibly be
everywhere I was to prevent upperclassmen (or any boy) from hitting on me. If
was walking down the hall with a guy friend and standing in the cafeteria
talking to a boy it was not uncommon for one of James’s friends ( some of them
I barely knew) to walk up them , look them intimidatingly in the eye and say
“hey you better not mess with her, she’s James sister.”
At the beginning of the second semester of my freshman
year I decided I was going to try to date a senior. This was not a good idea.
After I told my mom about this senior boy I met and was going to date, she
freaked out a bit. But her reaction was calm compared to the boy’s reaction.
Since my dad was out of town for the weekend my brother’s best friend decided
it was up to him to call my dad and let him know, “your daughter thinks she’s
dating a senior”. My father’s response to this phone call was “take care of
it.” As I argued with this brother of mine, another brother walked in the door
and said, without any of us informing him of what was going, “Megan, stop
talking to that boy.” If I had any doubt about how many brothers I really had
up until that point, that weekend answered my question, because every boy who walked
into the house that weekend had something to say about me trying to date a
senior. These were boys who had literally no blood relation to me what so ever,
but they were my brothers. No matter what your blood lines say, if you are ever
asked whether or not you have a brother, think about whether or not you have or
had someone who would yell at you persistently for dating a senior when you are
a freshman. If you do, then the answer is yes, you do indeed have a brother.
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