26 things I love about my baby brother

Everyone knows I adore my baby brother. As a kid, he was my favorite toy. My sister and I particularly enjoyed doing his hair and make up. (In the photo below, we caught him applying his own eyeliner...) And, of course, he was always up for a swim. He practically lived in the pool. He would also fetch stuff, anything, if you asked him to. It didn't matter if it was all the way upstairs. He would go. (One day he wised up and realized that being the youngest didn't mean he had to be the slave, but it was fun while it lasted...)

As an adult, he's still a good sport. He's always up for a drunk dial (giving or receiving), always good for a laugh. He inspires me to be more of myself, encourages me in my endeavors (be it for good or evil), and holds me accountable when I am lame. He's my head cheerleader and my chief critic. I wouldn't be who I am without him.

So here you have 26 reasons why I love my baby brother:

1. He's well read. Amazingly so.
2. He's clever. He amazes my mother by solving the Jumble in his head before she can do it on paper. In fact, Mom often takes all day and even cheats, consulting the Scrabble word finder (man, is she bummed when the word she's trying to unscramble has more than seven letters...). Kevin is rarely stumped. He also composes haikus while doing manual labor.
3. He filled my iPod. I don't like everything that's on there, but at least I have choices. I thoroughly enjoy much of it, though, and I know full well I am not nearly hip enough to have found bands like the Moldy Peaches on my own.
   
4. He's cute. We both look like our father, which means we both look like boys. Although, ironically, as a kid his long hair often gotten him mistaken for a girl.
   
5. He's corruptible. Despite that fact that I have corrupted him (often), he does not blame me (outwardly) for any wistful feelings he might have towards his lost innocence. One of my favorite tales of corruption involves the time he helped me liberate a happy meal toy from a thrift store. It was one of those mini beanie babies, the turtle to be precise, and it was trapped in a bag of other crap which was not worthy of purchase. I freed it from the bag and asked Kevin to be my mule to get it out of the store. In my defense, I am really not much of a shoplifter. A pen thief, sure, and proud of it, but shoplifting is not my thing. I honestly only roped Kevin into this scheme because he was wearing clothes with pockets. Kevin, apparently, is a natural, however, as he did not even use his pockets during the heist. Too obvious, I guess, and so he slipped my turtle into his waistband and we walked out of the store. Please note that I am not particularly proud of this story. Little brothers should not, in general, be used as shoplifting mules. Also, thrift stores are for charity and I am probably going straight to hell for stealing from one. Stealing anything, in fact, should involve either necessity or ingenuity. This was a crime of opportunity and OCD. I had to have this beanie baby to complete my collection of the series and I was no longer able to acquire it at McDonald's. This was early enough into the beanie-baby-turned-happy-meal-toy craze that I had not yet gotten completely fed up with my local McDonald's employees and decided to resist collecting any of the babies at all. This decision came much later, on the second or third series, when I was stymied in my efforts to amass a perfect collection by one particularly surly and stubborn cashier. Having been a former employee of Mickey D's, I know darned well you can buy the happy meal toy separate from the happy meal. There is a button for it on the cash register. It is on the lower right side. This particular person refused to press said button and I refused to buy a meal which would not make me happy. It was over for me. Ruined... But the turtle came before all that.



6. He always says "I love you" before we get off the phone.
7. He once conspired with my future husband to lure me into the middle of our front yard and surprise me with the sprinklers. He couldn't have been more than 10 at the time. They laughed and laughed while I squealed and ran. I think it's sweet that they both recognize how important they are to me and so they work extra hard to get along.
8. He's talented. He wrote the music for my wedding (and, of course, he wrote and performed the ceremony). I also particularly like the song he wrong for our parents' anniversary. It's called "Opposite Noses" and goes something like this, "you've got a hook, I've got a pug..." something something something "it must be love..."
9. He's funny. We share a sick sense of humor. We often like to end our conversations on a gross note. For example, he likes to remind me about the time I passed gas out of both ends simultaneously in my sleep. Even though this incident obviously scarred him, he still loves me.
10. He has a reputation for being lazy. As our mother says, "He just sits down." He appears to embody that law of physics - a body at rest stays at rest - yet he's often up for a walk. I think he's misunderstood. He's just conservative with his energy.
    
11. He's smart. He scored 1500 on the SAT's (before they added that new third section).
12. He's not afraid to take risks. He once gave a chocolate rose to an older girl in school.
13. He can sleep anywhere. I still remember his neck, crooked at a 90 degree angle, as he slept on a couch in our crowded hotel room in Anaheim.
14. He's nice to animals. Even Rags, the pig dog, whose face we first saw together while not getting a ride home from Pooh corner. It's not like Pooh corner was very far - just a block from home, though it was all uphill - but somehow I felt like Rags was mocking us as he enjoyed our ride home. There he was on Suz's lap, as Mom and Suzanne were smiling, waving, driving up the hill. All I ever dreamed about on those walks home from school was a ride. Any little bit helped. I never forgave Rags for that look (or for chewing my shoe - the cute black one with the bow on it...) but Kevin didn't care. He's even nice to Lucy, the dog that, in the words of our mother, "barks and pees in her sleep."
15. He imitates my father well. It's spooky even. And he does a pretty good Mom.
16. He's afraid of moths. I never knew. Recently he was harassed by one in the Devil's Whore House. I hadn't really thought about it, but they are rather erratic and unpredictable. I find them annoying, more than frightening, but I can see where he's coming from. Ironically, after he shared with me his fear of moths, we went inside and watched Mothra.
    
17. He's not afraid of spiders. He used to keep a pet tarantula.
18. Kevin is a six year old boy whose mother loves him. At least that's what it said about him the "What Not To Name the Baby" book... Even that book couldn't knock his name.
    
19. Yet he once changed his name to "Simon" in elementary school. I always figured it was an homage to Simon LeBon, as my sister and I were devoted Duranies. Instead, it turned out that he had changed his name as a deductive exercise. There was a girl who rode his school bus who was rumored to have a crush on one of the two Kevins on the bus. He figured by changing his name, he could flush out whether or not he was the admired one. I'm not sure if his plan worked, but I do know that by sixth grade he was a quite the hot item and a trendsetter.
20. He's a Gemini. The Libra in me loves Geminis. They're every bit as artsy, with an even stronger pull in two directions. This is why we appear lazy. We are too busy deciding which way to go.
    
21. He saved me. From myself. I don't think I'd realized what a gloomy preteen I had been until he came along and brightened up my world. He gave me something to belong to when I needed it most.
    
22. He's not greedy. For Christmas once he specially selected which Tin Tin books he really wanted because he couldn't fathom getting the whole collection. (Of course, he got them all...)
    
23. Yet he's cunning. He strung out his potty training long enough that Mom was willing to negotiate big time. He began earning He Man figures for each intestinal sculpture he left in the right place. Soon he had the entire collection...
    
24. He's an adventurous eater. Frog's leg, crocodile, cactus... Even decorative soap on a dare.... Erik and I paid him a dollar for his efforts, but sadly we made him use it to buy a soda to wash out the soapy taste in his mouth.
25. He once consulted his penis for directions in San Francisco. I've always suspected that men consider their members to be some sort of built in GPS, but this day he totally proved it. We were wandering, somewhere between the Embarcadero and the Mission District, and he literally stopped, looked down, and, curving his fingers to represent recent turns we'd made, he discussed with himself (correctly) which way to go.



26. He says, regarding marriage, that he'd rather be lonely than annoyed, but I think if the right girl came along he might change his mind. The girl in this picture, however, is taken. Little Maribeth is all grown up and already married as of April 14th. Besides, she's his cousin. I wanted to include this photo for two reasons. One, no offense Maribeth, but did you cut your own bangs? And two, notice the pin on Kevin's shirt? That's right, that's the Fab Five he's sporting. My little brother has always been cool.
    

So here's to the next twenty six years of late night phone calls, evil schemes, and genuine laughter. To missing ferries, catching trains, and carpooling with the parents. To the books you'll read and the movies I'll never see. Here's to little adventures in big cities involving pirate dice and pubs with pints and to the death marches that always seem to precede them. To gross notes to end on and, of course, to Algorithms. Happy Birthday, baby brother.