O Brother, Where Art Thou?

S had so much fun playing with Susan's 5-year-old son Abe (or as we call him, "Aber Baber") that she is insistent that she really wants a brother.

Oh brother. She doth not knoweth whateth she asketh for...

I told her brothers aren't all as fun as Abe. In fact, I have distinct memories of the trauma inflicted by my own brother Jeff. He desperately wanted a brother to roughhouse with (and I have it on good authority that the only reason the last two of us kids came to be was because my parents were trying to fulfill that wish. Jeff was Kid #4 with three older sisters and four younger sisters. My parents wisely chose to quit trying after Erin was born) but since there were none, we became his fill-ins. I am six years younger than him but that did not deter Jeff from making me his wrestling dummy. Whatever torturous move he had learned, he would practice on us and yell at us if we weren't trying hard enough to win.

One such move was the famous "Lawnmower" where I had to lay on prostrate on the ground with my arms by my side. He would reach across me, grab my arm and yank my arm across my back as hard as possible (i.e. pretending to start a push lawnmower) until I would scream in pain and roll over. I guess I should be thankful for all his wrestling "practices" because I was the second grade wrestling champ in P.E. Yep, even beat my "boyfriend" Danny at the time - which I am sure endeared me to the guys in my grade for years. That, along with the fact that I was usually a few years ahead of everyone in physical development. Amazon Jane (insert jungle yell here).

My brother also introduced us to power wedgies and made Mary run around the yard because he didn't want a fat sister. He told Erin that if she didn't help him finish a pool fence, he would throw a hammer at her. Oh yes, and also told her that some scary being lived under his bed, then would start backing under his bed and pretend that the scary being had grabbed his ankles and was pulling him further under the bed. He would clutch at the carpet and act like he was in the throes of death, completely freaking Erin out.

And forget having a boyfriend if he was around...he didn't want any "meat scraps" dating his little sisters . He really can be blamed for most of Mom's gray hairs. Or at least for the reason that her Swiss pastries didn't rise (something about drinking the whiskey out of the bottle that Mom used for the recipe - which she diligently marked the level of after each use - and replacing it with black walnut extract and water.)

Jeff eventually grew up to be the hilarious, scary smart, neurotic brother that I love (and work with) every day but if S really thinks she wants a brother, I might invite Uncle Toffee (as the kids call him) to come on over, regress back and see if he can change her mind.