So my brother, Marc, turned 35 today. I’d like to say that we caught up and drank 21 year old Scotch Whisky, but the reality was that the best that we could do was a hurried telephone call. Now, though, I’ve got a little more time, so I thought that I would take the chance to reflect on Marc’s first 35 years, and on big brothers more generally. I’m fairly confident that Marc will never read this
I remember when my brother attacked me with a plastic totem tennis bat. I seem to recall him trying to stuff it down my throat – even though it clearly wasn’t fit. I remember my brother trying to hold me down under the water in the backyard swimming pool. I remember my brother leaving me – when I was about 9 – somewhere a long way from home – and running off with his friends.
He sounds like a psychopath, doesn’t he?
And these are just the ones that I can remember.
But there’s something to be said for shared experiences. Even ones that have probably left trauma scars across my psyche. Because, if I’m honest, I can remember all the good things that he’s done for me, as well. Let me give you just one example. I must have been 8 or 9. For some reason, I didn’t have many friends – and, like a lot of Australian kids at the time, I was obsessed with cricket. I was desperate to play with the big boys – those kids in Year 5 or 6, like my brother was, but of course, they wouldn’t even consider it. I was just an annoying little kid.
Heck, I didn’t even have my own cricket bat. Instead, I had a really old tennis racquet. Seriously. That was my version of a cricket bat. But I gallantly took it along to school. And was crushed when nobody would play with me.
Nobody except Marc. Who left his friends, and came and played cricket with me. We found a corner of the school, with a wall and bin to serve as stumps, and we played cricket. Crappy tennis racquet notwithstanding.
And that’s what big brothers are all about. They’re the ones that you can rely on, no matter what you’ve said or done to them. They’re the ones that you can rely on.
The bastard didn’t let me bat first though.