‘Cause sometimes what’s meant to break you makes you brave
We’re big on brotherhood at our house. When The Husband and I found out our second would be a boy, one of the things I was most excited about was having a matching set: two of the same.
They are not the same. But also? They are not completely different. And, more than anything, they are brothers.
Of all the things I’ve done wrong by my kids (and there are myriad), one good thing they’ve seemed to cling to is the importance of their relationship to each other. At the beach the other day, a friend of mine was observing them. “They’re really friends, aren’t they?” she asked, and my heart swelled. Because sure, they press each other’s buttons (and kick each other’s faces) at home, but out in the world? They are a team.
They know that they are Brothers of Love because I call them that (and sing horrible impromptu songs about it) all the time. The Kid knows that, as the big brother, he forges a trail for Little Brother. And LB knows that his name means protector and he relishes the role. They are for each other, and we all need someone–preferably someones–who are for us.
Yesterday I took them to the beach, just the three of us, and watched as they laughed aboard a boogie board for an hour. The sound was as musical to my ears as that of a champagne cork popping. Later, we came home and they fought, but still…it was a magical morning while it lasted.
I don’t think you can be a person of heart, of bravery, in this world apart from relationship with people who challenge you, who are not your mirror. I’ve done a 180 on a lot of the beliefs I grew up with and much of that pivot is due to abandoning the home I knew for something entirely different (to be clear, I left out of desperation, not bravery, but the road still ended in the same place), where I met people I never would have seen back where I came from and found out that they weren’t the Big Bad Wolf after all, but actual humans. They became my brothers and sisters. They became family.
The other day the boys had a playdate with another set of siblings whose ages match theirs. LB navigated the afternoon with his typical social suaveness, while TK struggled through an exhaustion-fuelled tantrum. I hovered nearby, popping in and out and wondering why it has to be so hard sometimes. Beating myself up, getting angry at God, wondering how we’ll all fare for the rest of our lives…the usual.
And–I watched LB. I watched how little it all affected him, how completely they accept each other, and how that leads others to do the same. How I could learn from that.
This morning they watched the news out of America with us. Their disbelief was surpassed only by their questions, how? being their–and our–biggest. And while I don’t have a complete answer for that, I do know this:
The people I know who have been able to admit they were wrong, who can apologise most sincerely, who can put themselves in others’ shoes most willingly, who can face the truth most bravely, and who can love the most freely? They are the same people who have been rocked by what the world has dealt them at one time or another but, rather than bury their heads in the sand or cover it all with a floral tablecloth, have along with Gide consented to lose sight of the shore, have abandoned the places where they formerly found their safety in search of new lands that may be very different from where they started.
Very different, yet somehow also…home.