Many years ago, I followed my brother to Colorado. He had gone out years earlier, and when I chose a university to attend, I decided that I wanted to be far away from Oklahoma, but close enough to someone I knew well, so that I didn't feel alone. For the first few years I was there, I spent a lot of time at his apartment in Denver, every time I needed a break from school. The longer I was there, the more I built up my own circle of friends, and started my life together with my man and our kids, the less time I spent with my brother. There was no decision that we wouldn't see each other often, but it eventually happened that way. Then I started moving around the country, and he started moving around the country, and we started going years in between visits. Last week was the most time we've spent in each other's company in decades, I think. It was very interesting, reconnecting and falling back into a sibling relationship we hadn't used in years. I thought I had lost that ability. Apparently not.
I remember clearly the day I knew for certain that I wanted to be a real writer someday. In sixth grade, we had a writing assignment, and I took it very seriously. I wrote a pretend newspaper article about an accident at a nuclear power plant on the California-Mexico border, sarcastically referred to as the Baja Ha-ha. (I repeat, this was SIXTH GRADE. I thought that was hilarious when I was eleven.) I was so proud of my story, and I spent hours writing it out carefully to look like it came off of a typewriter. I knew this was my special skill, putting words down so other people could read them. By the time I was in eighth grade, I was already trying to expand my stories, and sharing them with friends. Halfway through my life, however, I have yet to complete a single long-format piece. But I still have hope.
My brother called today, to check in to see whether there was anything I needed him to handle with the condo cleanup, while he's still out there. At some point, we started talking about my blog, and he told me he really liked the things I've been writing. It meant a lot to me, since I've been trying to impress him my whole life. (It's not an unusual thing for a little sister to admit, is it?) He said he was jealous, that I was out there doing it, when he has always wanted to write too. I told him, practically begged him, to start writing too. Our styles would be entirely different, but I know he is every bit as smart as I am, and as skilled in verbal expression. I sense a competition on the horizon. It would be terrific. What better to propel us to step up our game than trying to best our big brother/little sister? Game on, bro. Game on.
(No particular reason for today's photo. It was just who I was looking at as I finished writing.)
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