I don’t have any biological brothers. It wasn’t in the cards. I do have three “brothers from a different mother, though—three lifelong friends who are constant, steady, reliable forces in my life that would do anything for me, and I’d do the same for them. We don’t need to state the commitment. We don’t advertise or flaunt it. We don’t really even talk about it in in-depth manner or have to reaffirm it every so often for it to remain true. It’s just a fact, understood and concrete. Hell, I don’t even have to mention their names because they know who they are (but I will anyway: Chris, Daryl, and Tim). They’re brothers, and that means the world to me. The positive influence they’ve had on me . . . I can’t due justice with words.
I love these “brothers” unconditionally. I say that truthfully and without hesitation because there are certainly traits and nuisances and idiosyncrasies and personal tastes they have that I don’t understand or aspire to possess myself , and I know there are definitely characteristics and beliefs and practices about myself that they don’t agree with or care for, either. Still, if you mess with me, you mess with them and vice versa. That’s because we have history.
History means so much to me. History is the foundation. The bedrock. History is the origin. History is from what all the branches stretch and grow. I bled and cried and laughed with these “brothers.” They picked my ass off the ground when I landed hard, and they kicked me in the ass when I needed it. They made me laugh when I didn’t think I could or wanted to. They put up with my crap and indulged my whims more than they probably should have. They didn’t turn their back on me when I went down paths they couldn’t relate to, and I didn’t either when they did the same. They taught me invaluable lessons. They inspired me. They pissed me off and tested my patience. They got me in trouble. They got me recognized. They helped me tempt fate and test boundaries. They watched me fail and excel, and I watched them do the same. They changed over time, and so did I, transforming into teenagers, young men, and then husbands and fathers. I hope to watch them grow into old men. I watched them succeed and fail and do things I didn’t know they could. We drank together. Ran from trouble together. Studied together. Avoided adulthood together and then embraced it. I value their opinion without question, and I’d absolutely fight you on the spot if you aimed to do them harm.
It took me awhile to understand what having a “brother” really means, but now that I think I do, I couldn’t be more grateful for these lifelong relationships. I might have friends that I spend more time with and have more in common with, but they aren’t brothers, and I don’t share the same ties. It took me awhile to understand it’s OK that I don’t have to approve or condone everything they do, and it’s OK that they don’t have to do the same for me.
Some people are lucky to have one really good friend even for a short duration throughout the course of his or her life. I’ve had three steady, constant friends for decades. “Friends” doesn’t do the relationship justice. I’ve been blessed in a lot of ways but having “brothers” who have been in it for the long haul with me rates way, way up near the top of the list.
No comments:
Post a Comment