Happy Birthday, recalcitrant brother

Today is the recalcitrant brother's birthday. He's twenty-nine. It's weird, but the fact that he's twenty-nine makes me feel a lot older than just me being thirty-one. My age is just my age, but holy shit. To have a younger brother who's almost thirty? Well, darn my socks and call me 'Granny.' Also, I remember being twenty-nine. It was not so long ago and not so much different than being thirty one. The recalcitrant brother used to be so much younger than me and now, for all practical purposes, we're the same age. My earliest memory is of driving away from the hospital in the back of my grandparents' car, going to stay with them while he was being born. My second earliest memory is climbing up the dresser next to his crib intent on tossing him out of the crib and reclaiming it for myself. One broken foot and a near-miss with a large marble dresser top and I was quickly disabused of the wisdom of that plan. I remember when his first son was born. The recalcitrant brother was wearing a Beevis and Butthead t-shirt and driving a shitty Camaro. He stood next to his girlfriend, who was holding the baby with this look like a deer caught in headlights. I remember thinking, "My god, this baby would be better off being raised by wolves." And yet, seeing him with his sons now, he's kind of grown into this "dad" thing in a much more graceful way than I would have ever guessed. It's true that we have our ideological issues, but I'm glad to know him, and glad for another year with him. I hope someone made him a cake.