To my brother at 50

I hear Joni Mitchell singing, “So the years spin by and now the boy is” . . .  50.

My brother and I are different people, or so I used to think.  Now I think we are so much alike that our similarities grate on each other.  We have the same expressions, gestures, and righteous indignation when bad things happen to good or innocent people.  And don’t mess with our kids.  We will lay you out with our bare hands.

My brother is an exceptional father and, by all accounts (ok, his mother-in-law), a wonderful husband.  Yet 50 is big.  And I wonder about the Joni Mitchell song.  His young dreams may have lost some grandeur coming true.  Are there new dreams, better dreams, that carry him through to the next year, and the year after that?  I hope so.  I wish I knew my brother better to know about his dreams, his fears, his triumphs.  But we are not those kind of siblings — yet.  I know I am prickly and judgmental (who, me?).

As we deal with the end pieces of my mother’s estate and planning for my father’s next 30 years (he promised to live to 120, like Moses), I know he trusts me to do the right thing.  That is the highest compliment my brother could give me. So, I know, deep, deep down, all three of us understand each other and know we will do what is right.  That was clear in the way we all pulled together when Mom died.

But I want to know more about him.  Not just what he thinks of me.  I want to know his dreams, his issues, his mundane concerns.  I want to know if the children have a religious affiliation.  Not because I care about the answer; rather, I care to know so I can be a part of their lives.

But, in the interim, I hope he still has wonderful dreams and the chance that they may come true.  And, I hope he thinks he is a lucky man for the life he’s lived so far and for the people who love him and whom he loves.

Happy birthday, bro.