“The music is a little too loud,” I hear Mother say. She sounds as though she’s verging on annoyance, but still keeping cool. I reluctantly lower the volume, but continue playing my record. Having recently discovered Simon and Garfunkel, I play “Bridge Over Troubled Water” over and over, never tiring of it. 

“Again!?” I hear the kind, strong male voice outside of my room. There’s a smile in that voice. He really doesn’t mind, just joking with me. I laugh in response and shout out, “Yes, again.” If he “complains” any more, I might get defiant, but his tone, voice, and demeanor just cause me to smile. 

David walks into my room, bringing his good humor and that innocent curiosity that covers so much complexity that I’ve come to slowly learn about. He sits down, enjoying the music—otherwise, well, he wouldn’t have come in, right? We enjoy those soulful sounds wordlessly for a while, maybe a little mesmerized, until we are startled by Mother announcing, “Come, supper is ready!” 

David glances at me as if to ask if I am going to comply—sometimes, I don’t—but I turn off the Panasonic record player that brings me such simple joy. Words not really necessary, my look says, “Come on, let’s go!” We emerge from the room, and I set my mood and intention on having a pleasant evening. The four of us—me, my Mother, Father, and my slightly older brother—sit down at the table, the sound of chairs pulling out.

Picking up his fork, Father glances towards David, and inquires, “Baseball today?”  

“No baseball today; chess club,” David responds, beaming, clearly reflecting on the game that he enjoys so well. I sense he wants to expound, but since our Father never quite was interested in the complex game, he lets the answer rest there. Changing gears unexpectedly, my brother motions towards me and shares, “You should have seen this one today trying out for the school play. The committee,” he says. “Put her in the dancers group!”

He’s abruptly cut off by Mother, who’s usually proud of all we do but seems suddenly tense. “Where are rehearsals!? Whose house? Are the parents going to be home?” She batting out questions anxiously, in a shrill tone, not waiting for responses. While I’m a little scared at the prospect of having been thrust into this highly visible dance chorus, I’m kind of excited, and now disappointed, fearful that she might complicate things. I inhale, take a sip of ginger ale, and as I am about to respond, very likely combatively, my brother chimes in, instantly charming her with that mischievous grin, “I’m done with my last class just about when her rehearsals start. I’ll walk her over there—I like the way some of those girls rehearsing for that play are so friendly …”

Dad looks up and smiles at him knowingly for his enjoyment of simply making new friends, and for diplomatically chiming in to defend his sister, organically putting out a potential fire.

(I grew up an only child, and imagine here what life would have been like if my also relinquished older Brother—who I have now known for 4 brief years— was “with” me back then, when I needed “defense” a bit more often than perhaps one should …)