Brothers

My boys have a Love/Hate relationship. On most days is would appear that Hate is the driving force. But I know better.

Little Squirt worships his brother. Surreptitiously messing around with Rock Star’s guitars and poking him in the ribs with light sabers is only his masked attempts for attention and emulation.

Rock Star also secretly adores his baby brother, although he’d rather be strung up by his guitar strings than admit it.

Little Squirt got into the car yesterday after school. He was upset because a bigger child had pushed him down on the playground during recess, and he wondered aloud what to do if he encountered that same hooligan again.
“If that kid picks on you one more time,” Rock Star said. “Tell him that your brother is a High School wrestler. And if he messes with you, I’m going to mess with him!”
Little Squirt beamed.

A family favorite poem:

Brothers
I had a little brother
And I brought him to my mother
And I said I want another
Little brother for a change.
But she said don’t be a bother
So I took him to my father
And I said this little bother
Of a brother’s very strange.

But he said one little brother
Is exactly like another
And every little brother
Misbehaves a bit he ssid.
So I took the little brother
From my mother and my father
And I put the little bother
Of a brother back to bed.

(Mary Ann Hoberman)