Once upon a time, I sat in my father’s arm chair while my parents sat side by side on the neighboring couch. I’m not sure how this seating arrangement happened. I do remember that in the big chair I was loudly sharing my knowledge of the world. With each proclamation my parents just nodded or said, “Mmmhmm.” So I felt completely affirmed in my beliefs, right? But then at some point in the conversation, they denied my request to do something. I stood up with all the wrath and righteousness of a fifteen-year old and said, “You can say that now since you think I’m a baby, but when I’m 99-years old …” My mom interjected, “When you are 99-years old, you will still be our baby.”
That story keeps coming to mind as I show pictures of my brother Keith to friends. They are used to my stories of a little boy who planted a seed in a cup. Or stories of the little boy I used to send to collect dandelions in our empty Easter baskets. When they see pictures of the small boy now a man who towers over most people, and of the child now a father, they always exclaim, “I thought you said he was little?” I just shrug and say, “He is little. He’ll always be my little brother.”
Words + Images 