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Wednesday, Jan. 14, 2009

I am my brother’s keeper — of the eggs

This year, for the first time, my family spent Christmas Day at my house. In the past, we have always gone to our mother’s, but my brother and I decided this year it was time we took over the holidays.

When my brother and his family arrived Christmas afternoon, one of the first things he noticed was the star at the top of my tree. The star has been our family’s for 75 years.

“You got the star,” he remarked, laughing. “You got the eggs. You get everything.”

The eggs my brother was referring to are a set of a dozen alabaster eggs that our father brought home from Italy.

Now the fact is, I have gotten more things from our parents’ home than my brother. I live here; Eddie lives in Atlanta. So when they decide to get rid of something — like the star — I am just more handy.

But the eggs I requested.

Sitting on the coffee table, they are for me a constant reminder that I was given one of life’s greatest privileges.

Having a little brother.

When we were children, Eddie just loved those eggs. Maybe it was the colors, which range from ocean blue to rust orange, or maybe it was just the thrill of sneaking into the living room — back in the days when kids weren’t allowed in the living room — and holding them, secure in his knowledge that it was something he could touch that he wouldn’t break.

Whatever it was, Eddie loved those eggs. And every day as I pass my coffee table, I think of my brother.

I think of him other times, too, but those eggs send me straight back to our childhood. I can close my eyes and see him, 3 years old, cupping those eggs in his hand.

When I think back on my life, I know how lucky I am to have had a younger sibling. It is a privilege and a responsibility to be the oldest in the family.

It was to me Eddie turned when he had a nightmare and wanted “Sisser” to sleep with him, all of 4 years old. It was to me that he first questioned the existence of Santa.

It was to me he turned when he wanted to drive a car, although he was only 13. It was me he told first, years later, when he wrecked his car.

It was me that he asked about dealing with our father when he got his ear pierced.

It was to me that he came when he wanted to turn down a full scholarship offer to one college in order to attend another.

It was to me he came, over and over.

As adults, I don’t advise my little brother so much. He is a grown man, very successful, who doesn’t need my advice to function in the world.

Sure, he still calls me, asks what to get our folks for Christmas, but he doesn’t need me like he used to. I am no longer the center of his world, the ultimate authority on everything.

I know that is the way of the world, for parents and older sisters, but it makes me just a little sad.

So while I offered the star to my brother to put on his own tree next year, I staunchly refused to give him those eggs. He ragged me about it that day some, saying I was selfish, that they had meant more to him when we were kids.

I know they did. That’s why I want to keep them.

Contact Alline Kent atallinekent@cox.net