My "Loving" brother

I love my brother Jip.  I've loved him since he was born (an event that I do not recall with clarity).  I loved him when he broke a window trying to sword fight with a mop staff against Danny, and we all got in trouble.  I loved him when he showed me how to jump off the top bunk but failed to mention that there is always a proper way to land and I ended up going to the Emergency Room with what my Mother assumed (from my screaming and my refusal to walk- because of the pain) was a broken ankle.  I loved him when he used to charge at me with his backpack and chase me down the sidewalk until Mother rescued me.  I loved him when he used to ask if every boy in my class was my boyfriend- within earshot of said boys.  I loved him when he cut in on my first real dance with a real boy who really asked me without bribery or threats from any of my brothers.  I loved him when he flirted with my friends in Elementary School... and Junior High... and High School... and college... and I'm sure he would now if he knew any of my friends.  I loved him when he convinced me to spend New Year's Eve watching all the Home Alone movies with a 12 pack of Mike's, salsa and chips.  I loved him when he came to visit me in college and I didn't see him except when he arrived and when he left.  I loved him when he asked every guy he met at my college if he ever liked me and warned them to never try to date me because he had seen me in the morning and there was not enough therapy in the world to get over that kind of scare.  Oh yes, I love my brother Jip.  I love him so very much, but lest you think that every one of my embarrassing stories growing up stemmed from something he did on purpose, tried to do, or accidentally did with flair- let me set the record straight, that it might not be all his fault.

I remember the early months of 91 with some fleeting memories.  Mostly I remember searching in vain for the return of the stork to take back the wailing, stinky bundle that he had deposited unceremoniously into my fragile 2-year-old life.  I mean I was used to nuisances- after all I already had one brother, but two!  TWO!  Was the arrival of a second brother really to be tolerated?  After all, it was not long after the arrival of Jip that my cousin Carolyn got a little sister (I offered to trade- she said "no.")  I suggested to my mother that there was still time- we could try making him a girl and no one would ever know the distance.  I tried to help her out by telling her that Daddy would like another little girl anyways cause he already had Danny and Danny was boy enough for the rest of our lives.  My Mother, trying not to laugh, reassured me that there was no changing him, what was done was done, and that God had intended for me to have a brother and that I should be grateful.  Little did she know, I threw a mini tantrum at God that day and set to praying that Jip would magically turn into a sister... or a kitten- I was okay with either outcome.
My Father informed me that for better of for worse, we were stuck with him.  I asked him why Jip had to be so whiny.  He told me that he was a baby and that's what babies do.  When Jip started to crawl I asked him why Jip had to get into everything.  He told me that's what babies do.  When Jip learned to talk and right off the bat learned to tease me, I asked Daddy why Jip had to be so annoying.  Instead of the answer I was expecting- that's what babies do- Daddy changed his line to, "It's in the brother contract- look it up."  I've been looking for this contract for the last 21 years.  If I ever find it I'm adding an amendment- thou shalt not bug thy sister.
When Jip was still relatively small I went into my baby phase and played with my baby doll all the time.  I had named the baby "Princess" (a name I now detest) but despite my love for my doll, at the age of two I was incapable of caring for her properly.  My mother tried to help me- Daddy never did.  On one day while my Father was home alone with all three of his offspring I came into the room with my a fore mentioned doll. Danny was playing in his room and Jip was sleeping  in his crib.  I dragged Princess into the room by her ankle.  I ran her into a wall.  I think I even picked her up a few times and dropped her unceremoniously on her head.  My Father watched, thinking to himself, it's a good thing that's not a real baby.  Unfortunately for all parties concerned, as he was finishing this thought, Princess started kicking, only to reveal that not only was this not my Princess, but to add insult to injury, it was my baby brother, in my dolls pink frilly clothes.  If you look closely you can see his look of fear because he's so close to me while I look annoyed at being near him.
21 years later, Jip still loves to tell this story when introducing me to his friends.  Then he laughs, leans over from his massive five-ten frame, and gives me a side hug, saying, "And we've had the same loving relationship ever since."
Geeze- you dress a guy up in girl clothes and drag him around a few times two decades ago and he never forgets it.  In short, I love my brother, but I don't always like him.