Brothers.

I used to call them "my boys," in spite of my acute awareness that they had practically inhuman abilities to torture me. I pined for their attention, knowing that I might regret it if they gave it to me. I wanted to be just like them, even if mirroring their behavior was idiot and would get me into trouble. But they were my brothers, my boys, and the connections or assumptions we make with our siblings aren't always logical or rational.

Still, after all the pranks and the teasing, they were undoubtedly instrumental in my "becoming a real person"--something which I also talked about while being thankful for women. It's true that they were often cruel in my childlike perspective. They couldn't help but be immature and childish and they thought it was hilarious when I screamed in rage. (They never made me sad, they just made me furious.) But there were other moments too. Whether or not I always felt it, I knew they loved me.

And when I got older, I knew they liked me. I was about 12 when they started wanting to hang out with ME! They wanted me to hang out with their friends, to go to their Christmas parties, to make cookies with them, to see movies and drink lattes and walk around Bell Square to look at furniture because it wasn't about what we did. It was about being together.

So, I am thankful for my brothers. I'm thankful for the way they treated me when I was little because it made me strong (and it's not my fault if they still feel guilty about it, so there.) I'm thankful for their love and encouragement, for the men they have become, and I am SO thankful that I get to see them in just 33 days!

Top picture: (left to right) Jon, Chris, me. 1991? Right picture: Me &; Jon, Sept. 2001. Middle picture: Chris, me. 1996-ish. Check out that rose-colored carpet! Bottom picture: Jon, me, Chris. 1990?

(And if you're wondering if I'm going to write a post about my parents... the answer is yes. Just not yet.)