I Am Not A Pig

You are a pig.

I am not a pig.

I’ve known this for years.  Why do I know this?  Because you have told me this all through out my formative years.   So in return I made sure you were aware that you are pig.  After all, if we are siblings, wouldn’t we be of the same species?  Of course.

It’s still kind of odd to me that we spent so many incredibly long wonderful years growing up together.   And now?  We seldom see one another as a group.  I get it.  We got old older and have obligations and responsibilities to our children, and our work, and our life that no longer centers around the childhood nucleus home.  I don’t have any problems with that.

Until I realize…you are my brother.  You are my sister.  And we no longer get to be in the same place, calling each other names, pushing each other around, and generally learning about life in the same place.

So I wanted to let you know…life isn’t the same without you around.   I know I know, it’s not suppose to be.  But since we aren’t in the same place any more I thought I would tell you that despite you throwing crab apples at me, and despite me having to clean out your crappy filled cloth diapers by hand, and despite the bruises we mutually inflicted on one another, and despite the fact you always stole my pop (soda to those of you who suddenly got snobby) all of the time, despite you always getting to ride shotgun, despite you always ratting me out, despite all of the angst of growing up….there are many  things that matter more.

In addition to all of the despites there was also:  always someone around to watch TV with, always someone to be in the house with so there was no fear of being alone, always someone else to blame, always someone else getting yelled at with me, always someone else to laugh with, always someone to conspire with, always someone to talk to, always someone to get a roll of toilet paper for you if you got stuck in the bathroom without any, always someone at school with you, always someone smarter than you to help you with math, always someone who felt bad for you if you got in trouble (even if you deserved it), always someone to play first bounce or fly or kickball in the backyard, always someone so proud if you did something really great, always someone to fight with, play with, have an air band with, eat breakfast with, there was just always someone with.

And when dad died, there was not one of us who had to suffer alone.

For the most part we’ve all gotten kind of adult like.  Even though there’s an immediate flash back to being ten when I answer a phone call and someone bellows “Pinky!” from the other end.   And when we do get together there is no one else who knows just the right things to say to piss each other off, or to make each other laugh.

We’ve been around through each other’s successes, and each other’s failures.  Neither of which impresses us enough, or bothers us enough to change the love…unless to strengthen it.  And when things happen that we can’t help…our helplessness is a burden.   And a heart wrenching pain.

Though life has turned us in to adults it can’t take away the role we have in one another’s lives.

My brother, my brother, my brother, my sister, my brother, my brother, my sister:   you are a pig.  And no one else on the face of the earth knows the significance of that now affectionate childhood taunt like we do.

You are a pig.   I am not a pig.

 A Long Time Ago