Oh, Brother

Note: This is a re-post. To my readers: Even though it may appear that my brother was a heartless monster, rattling off embarrassing stories and facts about me - he was not sabotaging my relationship. He was purely being a brother. And you must remember that this blog is from MY point of view. Of course I'm going to see things in a different way! And by 'different way', I mean 'the right way.' Love you, brother!
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Think. Who knows you better than your best friend? Better than your parents? Who knows all of your faults and failings, foibles and flaws - and has them all catalogued in an anecdotal arsenal, primed and ready for a full-on assault at a moments notice? YOUR BROTHER - or, in this case - my brother.

A little background: My brother and I are 17 months apart - he is younger. Through the years we have had periods of being close - and being close to killing. Both of us bear various half moon scars on our bodies from where our nails once tore at each other, vying for the auspicious title of "Front Seat Passenger on the Way to the Orthodontist." My brother still delights in pointing out his scars that he has charted by name and date, almost the way an astronomer would keep track of stars in a galaxy: "Murphy's Inn, Boyne City, Michigan - 1987." Though my brother is younger, I've often felt that he is older, for several reasons. He is taller. He left the house and got a 'real job' long before I did. He bought a condo, later a house, and later still - another condo. He got a dog. He got married.

Last weekend, my brother and sister-in-law visited me in Chicago for a chilly weekend to take in the sights. Among them: my home, the city and the Dashing Litigator. The plan for the latter sight was for all four of us to have dinner together, then hear my friend Jim's band play, then attend a pajama party thrown by my friend Trista.

At 4:30 we are on our way to the Dashing Litigators. I am driving my roommate's car, and I am nervous. I nearly rear-end a vehicle as I am making a left hand turn - and my brother, seated beside me, nearly has a coronary at age 29. He lets out an expletive, I snap at him, and I realize this situation is very similar to when the Dashing Litigator was about to meet my parents. I am once again on edge. I turn to my brother. I plead. "Please don't say anything to embarrass me or make me look bad." He smiles back, "Carrie, come on. Don't worry about it." From the back seat, my sister-in-law reassures me, "I won't let him say anything bad, Carrie." Ok. I find myself breathing just a little bit easier.

We pull up to his house, and because of my earlier behind-the-wheel blunder, my brother has me get out of the car so he can parallel park it. I'm momentarily irked, but realize it's probably a very good call.

We are walking down the sidewalk when I see the Dashing Litigator outside with Duncan on his leash. He looks nervous, too. Once Duncan recognizes me, he ambles toward me and I scoop him up, kissing both of my boys. Introductions are made and soon we are all inside the Dashing Litigator's cozy home that is warmly lit with candles. My brother pulls out gifts that they have brought for little Duncan, (puppy shampoo, a ball that glows when bounced and a stuffed squirrel chew toy). The Dashing Litigator is hugely grateful and the puppy doesn't know what to play with first. My sister-in-law is bonding with Duncan (he is alternately nibbling her toes and the cuffs of her jeans) and my brother is asking the Dashing Litigator about the work he has done on his house. Everyone is sipping wine, relaxed, laughing, and enjoying each others' company. The Dashing Litigator takes my hand and squeezes it, and I realize, "Hey. This isn't bad at all."

Soon we are off to dinner in Bucktown. I am once again behind the wheel, and once again driving like a fifteen year old who has borrowed dad's car for the night. My brother, from the back seat this time, takes this opportunity to spout off my driving record from age 16 on, including my mastery of direction. "Carrie didn't know where our highschool was until she was a junior. She couldn't drive there if her life depended on it." Sadly, this story is true. And thankfully it is one that I had already told the Dashing Litigator. Take that, brother. The subsequent stories of near-squirrel-collisions that ended with cars in ditches, tickets, and failures to stop - only worsened my present driving abilities, psyching me out completely. And aside from nearly turning the wrong way down a one-way street and running a red light (The Dashing Litigator's fault, as he was my navigator), we arrive in one piece at Feast, and I am more than happy and relieved to hand the keys off to the valet.

Dinner is off to a lovely start. My brother picks out a bottle of wine and the laughs are non-stop. My brother and sister-in-law recount their courtship and how on their first date my brother took his now wife up for a ride in a Cessna. The Dashing Litigator ribs my brother for ruining every hope of coming up with a good first date of his own. "How can you top that?!" he asks.

Somewhere between my first and second glass of wine, my brother says, "Carrie said to me earlier, "Don't say anything to embarrass me!!" I shoot him a look that clearly says, "SHUT UP."

He continues, "Carrie told me that she hasn't farted around you, yet. Well, you should've heard her last night. Wow. Impressive."

Again I shoot him my best "SHUT UP" look. He says, "Uh oh. She's giving me a look!"

He is on a roll.

There are more embarrassing trips down memory lane - and I feel myself floundering, unable to recover. I've had 29 years experience of dishing it out and taking it with my brother - but in this moment all I can do is sit there, numbly, in shock.

The bill comes and the Dashing Litigator pays for dinner. His gesture is, as usual, generous. We are getting up from the table, and I find that I am awkward, shy, embarrassed, unable to look him in the eyes. I am noticeably quiet for the rest of the evening. An evening that includes introducing them to more of my friends at a Quinn's Uncles gig, eating rum cake that I had baked for the Dashing Litigator's birthday, and dressing up in matching jammies to attend a party where they meet more of my friends. We take a cab home, dropping the Dashing Litigator off before heading back to my place.

As I fall asleep that night, I play back the evening. I realize that I am possibly reacting in an overly sensitive way. My brother loves me, and I completely had overlooked the section of dinner conversation wherein he praised my performance in "The Who's Tommy", boasting to the Dashing Litigator that he had attended every performance of that show, bragging that he is "my biggest fan". And the part where he said how great I was, and how happy he was for me that I had found such a great guy.

The two leave to head back to Boston the next day, and after bringing some order back to my apartment, I make plans to see the Dashing Litigator, as today is his birthday.When I see him, I apologize to him for the way that I had acted the night before. That I had allowed my brother's words to embarrass me, and that I was possibly being too sensitive. It was clear the night before, that I was angry with my brother, and I was embarrassed that the illusion that we had a perfect relationship was shattered.

Again, he reassured me."Carrie, my own brother called me to wish me a happy birthday this morning, and within ten seconds he had launched into a litany of reasons why my sister was the most ridiculous person on the planet. After five minutes, I put the phone down. Carrie, no family is perfect - mine is far from it - and there is obviously a lot of love between you and your brother. That was very clear."

And I will come to realize that no family is perfect. You cannot choose your siblings or your parents. You can only choose to love them. My brother has a quick wit and huge heart. I should've just let things be, roll with the punches, premature flatulation stories and all. Eventually the Dashing Litigator will see all of this anyway, and if he chooses to run away based on some silly stories of a much younger Carrie, then he is just not meant to be.

The Dashing Litigator is holding me in his arms on his birthday, which is also the eve of a weeklong trip he will be taking to visit his family in Florida.

"My mom asks about you," he says.

This is news. His parents don't even know he has a puppy. I didn't expect that they'd know he had a girlfriend.

He continues, "When we talk on the phone, she'll ask, 'And how's Carrie?'"

I look up at him with a smile - then doubt - momentarily turning into a 14 year old. "Wait. Does she ask about your friend Carrie?"

"Nooo." he says, "My girlfriend Carrie."I am all smiles again. This is a step. And even though our styles may vastly differ (I thrust nearly my entire family upon him in under three months and blog our entire relationship - while I am only just now becoming 'known' by his family) it is enough to know that we are progressing. That this self-proclaimed private person is now sharing me with his family...it's huge. And comforting. We are getting more comfortable with each other.

And no, I have not farted in front of him...yet.