Geoff

I remember being little and being asked to tell a bit about myself and I'd say, "My name is Meghan, I'm 6-years-old and I have two big brothers." I felt very defined by having big brothers. Very proud that I was not only the youngest child, but the only girl, too. I never really craved a sister until I was a teenager, but really, I just consider my "twin cousin," Jessica my sister. What I mostly wished was that she lived closer so we could spend more time together. She gives me everything that I think a sister would give me. We'll get to that in another "memory post." Probably in lots of memory posts, because I don't think just one can cover everything she means to me.

You always hear about the special relationships that sisters have. You go to Hallmark and there are special Sister plaques, special Sister cards, special Sister necklaces, special Sister poems on special Sister bookmarks. But what about brothers and sisters? We have pretty great relationships, too. Sure, my mom didn't dress us alike and we didn't stay up late talking about cute boys, I guess because he doesn't happen to be gay. But I don't think that's what makes sisters any more special than having a big brother instead.

I feel particularly close to my brother Geoff. I have a short list of "real-life" heros (people I actually know, opposed to, say, Rosa Parks) and Geoff is on that list. The quick list of reasons why is because he is incredibly intelligent without rubbing it in your face and being obnoxious about it, he is so giving that he joined the Peace Corp, plus he does little everyday sweet things, he is hilarious, but not in-your-face look at me, I'm know I'm funny! hilarious, a rare type of Funny found in a small breed of people that I hope includes me, and he has an undefinable strength in him that I can only wish to have.

Being one of three children poses its challenge. Generally, as youngsters, instead of everyone grouping together, we usually joined into teams: two versus one. The only time this rule is broken is on vacation, when we all usually behaved (yes, unlike most family vacation stories that I've heard, we behaved on vacations as children). At this vital time, when the unknown laid before us, we grouped together, our big brown eyes peering out at the rest of the world, me grabbing onto whichever brother was closer, when a parent was unavailable for the grabbing. Otherwise, in my everyday life, I chose one brother to prefer based, usually, on who was being nicer to me. And you knew who I preferred that week based on if I liked the Bears and LA Lakers or the Cowboys and Chicago Bulls. If I liked the Bears and Lakers, then I was on Geoff's side. If I liked the Cowboys and Bulls, I was on Eric's side. But if Eric turned on me or said something mean about Geoff, then I liked the Bears and Lakers again. I liked the Cubs year round, because both of the brothers liked the Cubs. This is getting complicated, I know. But it made sense to me. It was a system that worked, and I felt that it must brutally hurt each brother if he turned on me when I switched which team I liked better.

Whether I liked the Bears and Lakers or not, I recall looking up to Geoff as soon as he frowned at me in the hospital when we met. He was frowning because it was the first time my mom had been away from him and he wanted her back at home, not because he didn't like me. In fact, he had been wishing for a sister ever since he heard that I was on my way to the world. He even picked out my plaid blue diaper bag that I still have. I appreciate that he didn't pick out a pink one. It's like he understood me before I was even born.

When he was about 8-years-old and I was 3, he would play our Atari in the basement playroom. He always sat with his legs side-by-side, straight out in front of him. I wanted to do whatever Geoff did, however Geoff did. So on many occasions, I sat right smack next to him as he played Frogger, my legs side-by-side, straight out, toes pointed up and wagging side to side, just like his toes. Even though you would think I'd be very limber at this age, within about 3 minutes, my little legs would be in so much pain that I had to give up on this sitting position. He sat like that the whole time he played his video games, but I never did know how he found that so comfortable. Not even at my limber state.

My goal in my young life was to keep my brothers impressed. While my best friend was at her house up the street playing Barbies with her sister, I sat in the room that my brothers shared, next to Geoff on his bed. On their walls hung the pendents of the Big 10 and Big 12 team flags. He spent one morning teaching me the school names and mascots of the Big 10 and 12 universities. I thought it was a big enough accomplishment that I could count the 22 pendents (at the time Penn State was not the 11th school in the Big 10), but I was very proud to memorize the names and mascots and recognize the pendants for Geoff and show it off for Eric and my mom (who, really, couldn't care all that much, but tried).

The one thing that Geoff could do to make my eyes go from shining at him brightly to glaring at him angrily was make up stories about my bunny. It was my most favorite stuffed animal that my dad gave to me from a trip to Minnesota. She still travels with me. Her name was Fuzzy and my imagination had made her so, very real to me. In my mind, I was very much her caretaker, and she was very much a happy, innocent little girl bunny with a speech impediment. The poor thing couldn't say her R's, dear soul. That's gotta be hard for a rabbit. But then Geoff would come and interrupt our happy little lives and make up harsh stories about Fuzzy's life on the streets. She road motorcycles, he said, and had tattoos. She had a secret French lover named Fred, he persisted. He painted stories of their affair. It made me angry, as I described back exactly how very innocent she was. She was only a little girl. With a theme song that I made up on our dad's piano. What kind of hussy would have a sweet little theme song that I created?! On our trip to France, Geoff even tossed her out of our hotel room and into the hallway, suggesting that she had plans to run off with Fred. The nerve.

As he grew into his teen years and I was a preteen, he didn't turn away from me, like teenagers can do. He wasn't annoyed by how dorky I was, how strange I dressed (suspenders? really?), how funny my retainer made my speech, how strange my haircut was, or everything else that's awkward for preteens... he actually seemed to just like me for me. I wasn't tempted to be an annoying little sister and bother him for the sake of being younger and annoying and try to get a rise out of him. We never had that sort of relationship where I had the temptation to annoy him just for the fun of it. I just wanted to hang out with him and he let me. And if his friends were around, he let me hang out with them, but even when I was 13 and they were 18, he scolded them when they cussed around me. I laughed, then. It's not like my classmates at that age didn't have a hay day cussing whenever they had the chance. But my mom taught Geoff that swearing in front of a lady isn't right and he didn't want his friends swearing in front of me, either.

This blog seems to be all over the place, and it's because I can't think of just one favorite memory with Geoff. There were road trips, days spent lounging in the pool, vacations, feeling cool running errands with just him, going to Forrest Gump with him at the old movie theater, his high school and college graduations, saying goodbye after moving him to college, saying goodbye each time he left for the Peace Corp, Christmas memories....

The main thing is that it doesn't matter if I'm 3 and trying to sit the way he does when he's playing Atari or if I'm 26 and thinking about him... he's made an impression on me and I'll always look up to him and want to be like him.