My brother is almost two years older than me--to the day. From Thursday to yesterday, I was fifty-four years old, and he only fifty-five, one year apart (at least, on paper...).
Today, he becomes "officially" two years older.
Like the way it's supposed to be.
The "two-years apart" thing was never planned, not by anyone in this world. Both of us were adopted, and both times, my parents didn't know they were getting either of us until after we were born. Things were much different in the 1960s. So, us having almost the identical birthdays was a fluke--maybe fate had something to do with it.
Because I was "placed" in my family, I look at things a little differently. My parents, my siblings--everything could have been different--things could have ended up completely different. But, they ended up the way they did and continue to end up the way they are. It's life.
I could not have asked for a better example in my life. I've had friends who had brothers and, growing up, they nearly killed each other...literally. I remember my brother and I got into tussles, but nothing serious. Once I figured out he could kick my butt, I backed off. It wasn't worth it.
My brother was always good at pretty much everything he tried. He was an excellent artist, singer, "popular high school guy"--you name it. I just tried keeping up. And now, that we're old men, he continues to be an excellent example for me and my kids.
Today's his birthday. Love you, brother! Hope it was great.
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