The Motherer

I read Joel's blog with ardent passion. I follow every post and comment on practically all of them. There is something about the words he writes that resonates so completely with me. They are the voice of home, of our upbringing, of quotes or phrases I've heard him use again and again, usually from him or someone else in the annals of our family history, words that make total sense to me, even if no one else finds them interesting or funny. Although, I'm not implying that to be the case. I can't imagine that, actually, because I'm glued to every word, so isn't everybody?

Joel is my little brother, and though I haven't always treated him the way he thought he should be treated, I've always been true to my feelings toward him. Forever the motherer. He always hated that I mothered him in everything. And to me it was like the "M" word. I still cringe when I hear his childhood voice echo in my ear, "You're not the mom!" I knew I wasn't his mom. It's just that to me he was like a small, handicapped bird I always felt like I needed to follow around and protect. Not that he had any actual shortcomings to speak of. I just looked at him that way, probably because he was younger and always did things the way a younger sibling would do, along with an age-appropriate slower speed.

Now that he's all grown up, I look at him with the pride a mother might have for her son [sorry, Joel.] Still the motherer, even if not the actual mom. It's at the heart of me -- this instinct to shield, to put him up on some cosmic pedestal for everyone to ooh and ahh. So I read every word he writes. When I see a new post on his blog, I get a slight giddy feeling right before clicking on his link, mentally heading off to grab a bowl of popcorn in anticipation of the upcoming entertainment. I'm that proud of him. And I understand his point of view. In some ways I think I understand him better than he understands himself. I can look at his words with perspective, but still be close enough to his heart to comprehend the intent. Isn't this familial, though? Our siblings, once we grow up and get past the rivalry, can almost finish our sentences. Scary and comforting all at the same time.

So here's a tribute to my little brother, from his fated motherer.