Happy Father's Day Brosef!

I have a big brother. I’ve never written about him because, like most sibling relationships, ours was tumultuous at best. From summer afternoons spent being forced to play the “robber” in cops and robbers with the neighborhood boys to dirty sock ambushes suffocating my face while my brother pinned me down on the couch as well as the classic loogie fake, I was subjected to the most common “big brother” moves directly from the playbook I’m convinced they all receive at birth (the little sister’s birth, that is).

Even though I daydreamed of what it would be like to have a big sister instead of a big brother, my favorite books and tv shows had brother/sister relationships. “The Berenstein Bears” and “The Cosby Show” were the top two. I felt special like Sister Bear and Rudy Huxtable. I have a big brother and even though he beat me up, made me play the roles nobody wants to play like goalie, catcher, and ‘robber’, and incessantly framed me for his indiscretions with mom and dad, I would still catch him sticking up for me. See, it was only okay for him to treat me that way. As my big brother, he held the exclusive rights to all teasing, embarrassment, roughing up, and fear induction to the point of tears. Any treatment toward me of this nature that occurred outside of his puppet strings was not allowed and he made sure to defend his birthright….out of my sight of course…or so he thought.

Growing up I also saw that he would feign disinterest or even a sense of irritation or indignation at having to help me with a ‘pickle’ I’d gotten myself into, but I’d soon learn to recognize the sly joy he got from helping me out and in later years, he grew weary of the mask and settled into the helpful big brother role, albeit a sassy, know-it-all one.

During our awkward transition into adulthood, my brother started to open up to the idea of me reciprocating some of the advice giving. The summer before I went off to college he began to actually ask me for my advice...in a very sneaky way. This odd tradition began. On the nights where we were both home, he would yell at me to turn his TV and bedroom light off because he was too lazy to get out of bed. Under the veil of darkness my brother shared his fears and struggles and hurts. It was almost as if he couldn’t see me, I wasn’t really there. He wasn’t really telling his little sister about all the crap he had endured his first two years (and incidentally the only years) of college. I was just a necessary sounding board for the pain he had been keeping inside for too long. I was the only one he felt safe enough to share his fears. That summer I sat in the threshold between the hallway and my brother’s room many a night and remained silent. He cried. He laughed. He sat in silence processing. I’m so thankful he couldn’t see my face because although I never said a word, so often my face betrays my desire to remain neutral (something I have to work on if I am ever to be a therapist). He shared a HUGE secret I have kept to this day and that, in itself, is a huge victory for this self-professed Chatty Cathy. I’m so thankful for that summer and how it allowed our relationship to mature and afforded me the amazing opportunity to see my brother in a different light.



Today, I see him as a dedicated husband and father of two boys. I see how the two rascals I call my nephews disarm my brother’s tough exterior in an instant and how they alone can soften him in a way that makes me smile on the inside. I get to put so many pieces that comprise my brother together: smart-ass, son, brother, husband, father. Growing up, I definitely took some knocks from my big brother, but I wouldn’t trade him for a sister for anything. Truth is, in a lot of ways, I look up to him. But, don’t tell him that. ☺





"Danielson" and I. Circa 1981.

Keep Your Crabby at Home!

If there is one character trait that I could eradicate from my being, it would have to be my crabbiness. Yes, I said it. Does admitting the fact that I have some crabbiness in me, give me any points? Like GI Joe says, "Knowing is half the battle". Can I be given a tiny bit of credit? Maybe? Just a tidge? I didn't think so.

A few weeks ago I had my first meeting with the team I'll be traveling to China with in July. We were having a great discussion on how to be servants to one another and the Chinese teachers we'll be partnering with as we teach summer camp. I blurted out, "I should make a shirt that says, "Keep your crabby at home". This t-shirt would soley serve as a reminder to myself. The idea came from a statement I heard about ten years ago in college. The summer after my freshman year I particpated in a cross-country tour with a group of students. We had a couple of purposes, but mainly we served as ambassadors to our college. "YAY, We are happy, smiling, perfect Christians! Come to our school. Give money to our school!" The problem was I wasn't happy, smiley all the time. We put on a show every night complete with lights, set, music and dancing. We ate countless potluck feasts handmade by congregation members named Hilda and Gertrude. Incidentally Hilda and Gertrude like to guilt-trip you into seconds and thirds and think that everyone is too skinny. We slept in the homes of Gertrude and Hilda's kids or cousins or neighbors. We travel in a van all day and eat bag lunches made by...you guessed it Gertrude and Hilda. It was like Christian Road Rules on...Testamints!

Needless to say, when you are with the same group of people day in and day out for months at a time, I don't care who you are, the gloves come off! One morning I just wasn't feeling it and before my backside even found the worn bench seat of the van, I rose my right hand with an air of attitude and said, "Fair warning everyone, I'm having a crabby day today". I thought this warning would protect me from cutesy small talk, pranks, and all other shenanigans that I normally participated in. One of my friends and fellow tour members totally derailed my plan, my wall, my fortress of crab. Dan was a football player with the voice of a Disney prince. I'm serious. You can't help but listen to this guy and feel rebuked and comforted all at the same time. What? Dan says (in his hero-esque voice), "Dana, you know, crabbiness is a choice." My facial expression I'm sure spelled out my disgust in letters that Disney corp. will never use. He continued, "Everyday I wake up and I have a choice to be crabby or not". CRAP!!!!! It made sense, but it wasn't what I wanted to hear. I thought I'd written myself a free ticket out of relationship at least for a few hours by my declaration of crabbiness. And I was pretty sure the whole van heard "Deep Thoughts from Dan". Ugh! I'm caught! I have to choose to not be crabby.

I recently went on a trip to CA with some dear friends from college, two of which were in that van on that 'day of reckoning' years ago. As I knew it would, crabby came to the surface like an explosive volcano (that how she works with me). It spewed all over my friends and I may have spouted a curse word or two. Immediately a wave of disappointment and guilt washed over me. I pushed crabby away, but the damage had already been done. It only takes minutes. Thankfully these friends love me and forgive me, but I couldn't take back my immature display or the words I had said.

What happens when we let our crabby infest those who don't know us at all? Those whom we are called to love? Can we simply say, "Oops...Sorry, I was having a crabby day"? What kind of an excuse is that? Really. I've tried to forget that day in the van many a time. I want an excuse. I don't want to be responsible for my actions ALL the time. But I can't shake it. We do have a choice to be crabby or not and the choice that we make affects so much more than we can see.

I know I'm not perfect and I'm sure crabby will make a cameo appearance on the China trip, but I pray that I can make a choice to stop her instead of feed her.