Answer #4--My Brother Is The Best

You rock my world.

You always have. Literally actually. Like the Led Zeppelin barreling out of your Nautilus Avenue room at 7 AM, followed by a groggy, stinky lug that I admired every speck of.

By the time I was in Preschool a week, Mom tells me that every teacher could say, “Now we know who Mark is.” There was no one I’d rather tell about, no one I loved more, no one who did cooler things. Like take me sledding and carry the sleds up every time. Like bounce me to the moon on the trampoline (except for the one time it didn’t end so well.) Like let a little sister hang out with you when you were a teenager. Like come to Boston and set up everything, even a hook for my bike to hang on. Like give me a speeding ride in the grocery cart on the way back to the store. (That trip ended up “rocking” my world too.)

I once said, “What if Mom and Dad had more kids than just us?” You rocked my world when you said, “I wouldn’t have liked them as much as I like you.”

I rocked your world too, sometimes: “STOMPEO. DANANANANA. STOMPEO.” Better than the Rolling Stones ever could have.

I feathered my bangs and had my hair cut like yours in 2nd Grade. The school nurse thought I was a boy. I tried to strut like you, but that didn't work out very well.

You were the man of my life for 22 years. You are still the man of my life, you’ve just become the silver medalist. But I’ve noticed that I’m a silver medalist now too. But I don’t mind. We used to talk every day. Now, not as much. That’s what you get with the silver medal—less fame. But I think the achievement is no less great.

I want my kids to be a sibling just like you. I want them to be gregarious and gentle and generous like you. In fact, I want to be gregarious, gentle, and generous like you. I want them to say to their younger sister who’s had a bad dream, “Garrruuuggghh,” which means, “Come on in, Kiddo.” I want them to sneak food to each other in bed after I’ve sent one of them to her room without supper. I want them to race to a train station to put their little sister on a train to the temple when they’ve overslept, even though the temple might not mean much to them at the time. And I want them to take their younger sibling for brunch at Bendix.

I love you. For 31 years I’ve looked on you as my rock. I’ve always wanted to be just like you. I want to be confident in job interviews like you. Fun with kids like you. Generous in time and money like you. Brave in skiing like you. Unruffled by criticism like you. Cheerful like you. Casual about broken things like you. A great sibling in-law like you. An awesome omelette maker like you. And a million other things like you. I just want to be smaller. And less smelly than you. And listen to better music.

Happy Birthday!