The Hidden Brother

A few days ago, I fell for one of those little memes on Facebook: in honor of siblings, post a picture of you and your sibling(s), past or present. I posted a picture of my brother Aaron and I when I was about two or three. He would have been nine or ten.

The picture shows us sprawled on Grandma's couch, each clutching a Peanuts comic book. We were both smiling hugely, and it is obvious that Little Meg just wanted to be wherever her brother was, doing whatever he was doing.

I thought I might get a few comments about how cute it was, but what truly surprised me was my friend Amanda's comment.

"I didn't even know you had a brother!"

...Really?

I knew Amanda in college. We were fellow music education majors and spent a lot of time in the same classes, and at the same choir rehearsals. For a time, we were pretty good friends. Could I have really known her for those three or so years and never mentioned that I have a brother? Was I that self-absorbed?

In retrospect, I think I must have at least mentioned him from time to time. I know that I probably complained a lot about his wedding being the weekend before my last finals week, and I'm sure, every once in a while, I must have told some anecdote about growing up as The Baby in a family of four.

It has been a while since Amanda and I have seen each other, and I wouldn't expect her to remember these things, but it made me think. I can't tell you how many times people have simply assumed I am an only child. Maybe it's because I do so much with Mom and Dad, and Aaron simply isn't around. He's in Idaho with his wife and children, living his life. Miles and money make it hard for the Idaho Coops to travel to California often, and they are busy with all of the craziness that comes with being a young, middle-class family, as they should be.

Amanda's comment made me think, and realize that sometimes it really must seem to other people that my family is just Mom, Dad, and me. No, I have a brother. We're opposite sides of the same coin--so different, and yet part of the same unit. We go weeks without talking, but then spend an hour on the phone catching up. He sends me postcards and I try to remember to send him some, because I know he enjoys collecting them. The Idaho postcards grace my refrigerator until a new one comes along. I open the door to get the milk and think of my hidden brother.

I may not talk about him a lot, but don't think I don't love him. Because I do.