On this day in 1965, the world welcomed my younger brother. I didn’t necessarily welcome him, because I was perfectly happy as an only child, but I hear there were those that were glad he was born. This is a birthday letter to him.

Dear Brother,

Despite our political (huge) and religious (huge-er) differences, despite the fact that you broke my finger and pushed me through a window, despite the fact that you got away with EVERYTHING because you’re a penis-bearing member of the family, I’m kinda glad you’re my brother.

Too bad you live 9 hours away - and in the wrong direction. Seriously, who moves NORTH from Michigan? Isn’t the weather here sucky enough? And dude - fishing? Yawnnnnn. Can you think of a duller way to occupy your time? Oh, wait, you could watch grass grow. Or paint dry.

I hope you don’t bore your students to tears, too. I still think it’s hilarious that the guy who never picked up a book to read for pleasure until he was in college ended up being an English teacher. Have you taught everyone how to read your comments on their papers? Because, y’know, your writing is still illegible.

Remember when you shot the next-door-neighbor with your b.b. gun and I kept your secret? Remember when you decided to eat a tablespoon full of mayonnaise - that’s all, just mayonnaise - and made me puke my fuckin’ guts out? Honestly, WHO eats mayo by the spoonful? Oh, that’s right. You, my dear brother. I’m sure that it was only because you knew I would barf. To this day, I can’t eat mayonnaise on sandwiches.

But none of those are my favorite memory. Can you guess what that is??

Remember when I turned 20 and found someplace to go skydiving? I’d been waiting my whole life for a chance to fulfill that dream. I saved up my tax refund to spend on lessons and jump fees. I scheduled a date. You decided you HAD to go with me. So Mom paid your way (ehem. Do I even need to go there?) and you tagged along for the adventure I had always wanted. Of course, I didn’t ask you to go along, you just had to butt in, AS USUAL.

When we finally got to the jump school, had gone through all of our training, and got up in the plane, you said to the jump master -

“Let her go first. That way, if the ‘chute doesn’t open and she falls to her death, I won’t jump so I’ll get a bigger inheritance. “

But I’ve forgiven you for that. No, really, I have. In fact, if we were to go skydiving together again, I’d pack your parachute myself still go first.

We’re both old now. We may as well start acting mature. Happy Birthday, Golden Child.

Love,

the Hotfessional.

—- And you’re no match for me in the smartass department, but I love you anyway. —-