Each morning as I swallow my first spoonful of oatmeal, I’m reminded of my brother. I learned a lot during his recent visit: oatmeal still makes a good breakfast, the habit of talking to myself is genetic, and blood is still thicker than water.
I have one brother and one sister. My sister lives in the Twin Cities, and we regularly keep in touch. My brother lives in Los Angeles, and we keep in touch not as much, so I was delighted when he sent a postcard letting me know he’d be visiting in September.
The first thing I noticed was his habit of fixing a bowl of oatmeal at breakfast. He wasn’t crazy about it, he told me, but it seemed a good way to maintain his health. I’d forgotten all about oatmeal. Thanks, little brother. Admittedly I add maple syrup, raisins and cream to mine, but he got me started on the habit.
Next I noticed we share a lot of traits. We’re not clones, but the similarities are there. We talk to ourselves when no one’s around. I heard him chatting with Abby, our big dog, something I do all the time.
We both tend to forget where we place objects, and I have to confess when he misplaced a book (I constantly lose my glasses) and couldn’t find it for an hour, I felt relieved. I can blame genetics for my absent-mindedness. I also noticed his hands were precise replicas of Dad’s, another reminder of genetics at work.
He reminded me of my love of music. It’s something else Charlie and I share, although his interest and ability far surpass mine. As he sat in my living room and strummed his guitar, he began the words of an old standard. I stopped fixing that evening’s lasagna dinner and joined him. “I’m beginning to see the light,” I crooned in my old and cracked choir voice, and we finished with a flourish.
An avalanche of family history flooded over me as we chatted about various memories. I’m eight years older than Charlie, so many of my memories differ from his, but we both understood the basics of our childhood. Aunt Agatha and Mom didn’t always get along. Dad really liked living in the city where there was action, but he loved visiting his family in rural South Dakota. We attended a lot of church services, and one hot summer, we all suffered through a miserable car trip without air conditioning.
His enjoyable visit inevitably ended much too soon. I felt a twinge of sadness as we said our farewells. It might be some time before we’d see each other.
On the other hand, I was happy to have had a great refresher course in “family.”
Thanks, brother.
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