Not my Kind of Girl
My younger brother is my reason for living.
It had to be said.
I’m going to dive into this, not knowing where it’s going to lead. There’s been a lot of thought, pages and pages of prep work going into this, and I haven’t been happy with any of it. Soooooo, here we go. Stay with me…..
This is my little brother, Ben. Ben is the baby of the family, which means we were the last two children in the house after the others left home. And even though we are almost 6 years apart, we were pretty tight. Now, we’ve talked about my memory issues in the past….and it embarrasses me that I’m unable to pull out specific memories of someone who has been with me my whole life.
We share a few passions such as sports and music, but most of all we just GET each other. Like all he has to say is “Who’s got the conch?” Or “Maybe it’s in your other pants” and I’m immediately giggling or saying “I ain’t got no other pants”. It’s so stupid and makes us laugh every time. When I’m around him I feel like I’m a 20 something year old and not a 51 year old grandma. We, along with my sister, have talked in the past about how we don’t have a lot of friends outside of each other, because no one GETS us. I get, and usually appreciate, his humor and can egg him on. I laugh so much when we are playing games or just talking. There are other times I listen to his pain and wish it were mine, not his.
It’s so weird how I don’t have a lot of memories of growing up but how just one or two are still there. Like I can’t pull out hardly any specific days of my childhood, but can warmly remember laying in our respective beds across the hallway from each other just naming off baseball players. Back and forth back and forth until one of us was stumped or fell asleep.
Along with being full of witticism, a great impressionist and just damned funny, he’s also very successful.
He’s a Emmy award winning journalist, one hell of a writer. He was the first one I wanted to tell about my blog, but nearly the last one I did tell because I’m so insecure about my writing (among a zillion other things). He was very gracious about my writing which made me cry.
Not long ago I was looking through my treasures in the basement storage room (or Jory’s room as it’s fondly called here since Alex thought that’s what we were saying when he was small and feared someone named Jory lived in there) and came across a folder of drawings that Ben drew, for me. From the depiction of super long legs, giant head and almost no torso, I have to believe he was about 6 or so when he drew them, making me about 12. Most of the pictures were Kentucky basketball players, a couple of Michael Jackson but several I ❤️ Dawn pictures. And I just sat there and cried. I hope I was/am the sister he needs. We don’t talk everyday…or every week….or bi-weekly….but we are getting better at it I think.
Favorite adult memories:
Driving to and from Columbia, SC for UK/SC basketball game. The conversation we had about our doubts about God. He may not remember, but I do. It was real and raw and makes me appreciate that we can be honest with each other. Oh and running (or running and stopping and running and stopping) the stairs on the government building like Rocky.
UK/Mizzou football game where I fell off the curb after day drinking and suffered a giant hematoma that was on my shin for years.
UK basketball in NCAA tourney in STL. I can’t even explain the atmosphere, but it was so much fun! Oh and Ben falling UP a curb lacerating his hand and becoming familiar with the First Aid portion of the basketball venue.
STL/Reds game in STL with Gavin and Alex. The game was great, I don’t remember who won. My favorite part was riding home and realizing that we both thought “Not My Kind of Girl” was the best song on New Editions N.E. Heartbreak album. Those poor kids having to hear us belt out “Oh girl, I’m sorry!!!” We nailed every harmony that Ronnie, Ricky, Mike, Ralph and Johnny could come at us with. THAT is something I will never forget. https://youtu.be/X5OqkD2OG-o?si=1-0Hh13GJZ-RrlEc If you’ve never heard it, you’re missing out!
I don’t have a number five…maybe it’s in your other pants….
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