This gave me a complex that lasted at least three years. I was the baby in our family. It was my Role. Having left behind my single-digit era, I found myself in an identity crisis of Wendy Darling proportions. Except she was an oldest...so even that failed to serve as comfort. (Poor me.)
This is far from being the only complex inspired by my older brother. Scarred by his dethronement as youngest by my unexpected existence, I was subject to all sorts of twisted tomfoolery. I was backup to his lead in our pretend band. I was placed in precarious situations (like dangling from our second floor bannister) so that he could play the part of Superman and rescue me. And of course, I was forever subject to playing the part of the younger brother he never got to have. I played GI Joes (but never the cool guys; I always had to be the unwanted character), He-Man (same situation), and a gamut of sports that has left me with many physical scars, including a permanent lump on the left side of my head. I was never going to be an athlete due to lack of talent, but being forced to pretend in order to fill the part of the missing opponent may have sealed any possibility of attempt.
Even so, I love my brother heaps and we've grown past these silly sibling issues (mostly). But what always strikes me is the irony of how he has been reincarnated (while still being alive) in the body of my own middle child. Mr. Noah.
There are a few words that can best describe Noah. They may not immediately make sense to an outsider, but it's more about putting them together to paint a bigger picture. Ready? Emergency. Fireball. Black hole. Maniacal laugh. Compassionate. Bursting. Disgruntled. Senior citizen.
Day after day for the last ten years, walking hand-in-hand with this child has been like trying to pull a wagon that has blocks for wheels up a hill riddled with potholes and stubborn thorny bushes. But, imagine if you will, the feeling of great satisfaction that fills the heart when you get that wagon to the top of the hill, square wheels and all?
That is what it's like to have a good day with Noah.
He's not easily swayed by much. By pure coincidence, my sister and I both bought him a copy of A Wrinkle In Time this Christmas. When he unwrapped the one I'd bought him Christmas morning, he'd made a face like it was a pair of socks or underwear and then wordlessly cast it aside. My English teacher's heart broke.
Imagine my reaction when he opened the same thing from my sister later that day and expressed...joy? Excitement!
What a little jerk.
Anyway. He read the book cover to cover in less than a week. And then, because he's Noah, he had the frustrating audacity to sidle up to me for a snuggle and say in a googly, lovey voice: "You were so right, Mom. It was the best book. I loved it." Right. But only because Aunt Jane recommended it. (For the record, I totally watched to see which physical copy he chose to read from; mine gathered dust beneath the Christmas tree.)
But Aunt Jane wasn't the person he invited to see the movie. That very special privilege went to me. Just me. Daddy and the brothers went to see something else with gnomes or something. Noah and I went to the concessions counter, picked out snacks, and took seats in a near-empty theatre together.
He sits on his feet. His eyes are so big, particularly his pupils, so the reflection of the movie was in them the whole time. He held my hand (until it became, as he loud-whispered apologetically, "too warm"). True to his personality, he teared up at certain parts, but when the credits began to roll he shouted (because he only knows how to be loud), "That was terrible! The book was so much better!" (A Band-Aid on my English teacher's previously broken heart.)
And then, "The best part was the Tesseract. That was cool."
*Sigh*
Today is his tenth birthday. The spirit of birthdays is, of course, celebrating the birth and existence of a person we admire and appreciate. Happy Birthday! I like to follow it up with, "I'm glad you were born!" And if I can, I like to find the exactly right gift to let the person feel inside what their existence makes me feel.
I scoured Amazon for about two hours after seeing this movie. And then I found the perfect birthday gift for this amazing boy entering into double-digits. See, when my oldest turned ten (or thereabouts), I bought him a light-up globe. "I'm giving you the world," I'd said. Hard to compete with, and sort of lame if copied with the next child.
But after A Wrinkle In Time, it was easy enough.
amazon.com
My gift to Noah this year was a Tesseract. I didn't give him the world. I gave him the Universe.
When it becomes hard to not be oldest and not be youngest, when life seems impossible, when you feel like a wagon with square wheels, remember that my heart is always with you. No matter what else, you have my love. You may not always see it, but remember: Not gone. Just folded.
Love,
Mom
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