My brother has always provided the comic relief in my family. He still makes me laugh like no one in the world can. Even now, in adulthood, he is not above the teasing, jokes and sheer silliness we all love so much. My brother is responsible for every nickname and made up word in my family’s lexicon. The nicknames range from the obvious which come about by a shortening of a name or a rhyming variation perhaps. Others are less easily understood by the rest of us. None the less, they all stick. I have many, but one of my favorites, which he still uses, is Stu (pronounced STEW). Sue became Stu , and sometimes for an a little extra variation I am Stu-ya -ya.
When I talk to my brother we tease each other like we always have. He makes jokes which make me giggle until I feel like I’m 7 again. Then I have to remind myself that we are all grown up and he is now father to the Little Bitsy Nephews (4 &1). They are Little Bitsy as compared to Big Sisters sons (22, 13 and 8), who are now the Big Boy Nephews. I’m sure I’m underestimating all their ages, but if I am, it’s my way of expressing my disapproval of the whole “growing up” thing they insist on doing.
It was my big brothers birthday this past weekend. We talked online, as we sometimes do, looking at each other via our webcams. In the middle of the conversation I watched as my (almost) 4-year old nephew entered the room to sit on my brother’s lap. He was tired, so he didn’t have as much to say to me as he usually does. “I want to do my numbers”, he said a few times wanting to play with the keyboard, but my brother gently distracted him by asking for his help in selecting pictures to e-mail to me. Eventually he fell into a deep sleep.
It was so sweet to watch him snuggle into his father’s arms, safe and sound. Protected. I know exactly what that feels like because that’s exactly how I feel around my brother.
Since the day I was born my brother has always been my protector. As soon as he laid eyes on me it’s clear that he decided that it was his job to keep me safe and take care of me. He would get upset if anyone outside of our immediate family even attempted to pick me up.
When I was born my mother was teaching at a rural school. Every Sunday we would take a bus to the school where we’d stay for the week, before coming back into town on Friday night. The conductor at the bus terminal would tease my brother by picking me up and pretending that he was taking me away. This incensed my brother who would cry and scream and declare that wherever I was going he was going too.
One time a family friend came over to our house and picked me up. Carrying me in his arms, he started walking to his own house, which was a fair distance from ours. This time my brother didn’t cry. He said nothing. He just followed, his expression set as he trotted along on his four-year old legs. Determined not to let me out of his sight.
When they arrived, the man took me inside the house and closed the door. I guess he wanted to see what my brother would do. Big Brother was undeterred. He just sat down in front of the door and waited resolutely. Still saying nothing. He didn’t cry. He didn’t utter a word. He just waited. Half an hour passed and it became clear that he was not going anywhere without me. Eventually, the man opened the door, came out with me still in his arms and started walking back to our house. Again, my brother followed. Still saying nothing. Still never letting me out of his sight until I was back where I belonged.
It’s no accident that in the very first photograph that was ever taken of me, I am not alone. It was taken in the garden of our house in the town of Gwanda, in what was then Southern Rhodesia. In the picture I am sitting in an armchair, wearing a white dress. My brother, who was 4 at the time is standing behind me, his chin propped on the back of the chair. He is unsmiling, gazing into the camera with an expression that seems to say “I’ve got my eye on you.” When the photographer arrived to take my picture, it was clear that my brother trusted neither him or his equipment. Being suspicious of his motives, he stood guard over me and absolutely refused to move away from me. My mother says she tried everything to get him to move so I could have my picture taken, but no amount of cajoling or threatening could convince him to step away from the chair. So she let him stay. That’s why in my first photograph, I sit under the unwavering protection of Big Brother.
Not a lot has changed in that regard. That was the beginning of a lifetime of being watched over and taken care of by him. From carrying my school bag every day as we walked to and from school,when we were in primary school, to sending me money when I was in college and he was working at his first job because he knew our parents didn’t always have it to send.
Then and now, whenever I am upset my brother listens to me with deepest concern and compassion and by his very presence seems to steady and calm me. And when all else fails, he can always find a way to make me laugh.
From the day that picture was taken he has been a calm, steady and ever present force in my life. That day I may not have been able to look up and see him standing behind me, but I’m sure I felt safer for his being there. And even now over 3 decades later, when I can’t always see him because we are on different sides of an ocean, I sense he is always there. Steady, strong, loving, compassionate. Always present and always protecting me. I am so thankful.
Happy Birthday nint. I love you!
