My brother David: And the bells started ringing.

My brother David.

I will explain a little about what he was like as a child, because the tedious business of surviving high school, excelling at college, and obtaining gainful employment seems to have somewhat subdued his original creativity and feisty spirit. This will give you a more rounded picture of who he is.

My relationship with him has been evolving since the beginning. We go way back. He's only two years younger than me, so the earliest of my memories has him right there, sidled up next to me. When he was very young, he had white blond hair and a devilish grin. I called him "Daving." My mom tried to correct me countless times, "It's 'David,' Chris. Da-vid." But I clung staunchly to my personalized version...until the day she decided to use some reverse psychology. "Where's Daving, Chris?" "Mom. His name. is Da-VID." And I never went back. Evidently the uttering of the special name by anyone else tainted it and made it unsuitable for myself.

During his white blond days, we attended a wedding and were photographed afterwards. Being the motherly type, I felt it my duty to help him smile correctly for the camera. It turned out something like this:

...Which he claims is the reason why, to this day, he doesn't like getting his picture taken.

Except on special occassions, I guess. Like, uh...Thanksgiving, I think this is. Yeah, yeah, turkey really gets him excited.


...No, not really.

Once we were a little older, Karen and I would build "homes" out of card tables and blankets and set up house inside them. Poor David, "house" was too boring for a rambunctious boy, and he would swoop down with a natural disaster to liven things up a bit: tornadoes, fires, blizzards, earthquakes, and dinosaurs plagued our otherwise peaceful homesteads. We'd rant and rave as he tore and shook apart our homes, but to no avail. The damage would be done and the girly whining would begin. Good times.


Once we got to high school, I adopted a new nickname for him: the Spanish version (of course; I was unconsciously preparing for my role as wife to a Mexican)--Dah-VEED. Yes, I'm wimping out and not going through the trouble of learning how to make an accento. Hey! At least I'm blogging tonight! Watch the criticism or I'll just go to bed.

That's right. Don't push me.

My brother David.

He has a hidden whimsical side that delights in well-made movies, movies full of humor and wit. He sometimes sings his side of the conversation, but somehow I doubt he likes musicals. He makes great jokes about computers and math that nobody in our circle gets. It's hard being brilliant.

He is a man of God. He is conservative, incredibly smart, has a great sense of humor. He is patient and reserved, kind and articulate. He doesn't like small talk, but sometimes indulges me. He has an uncanny ability to make me feel so proud and tender that my heart contracts a little and at times, a tear even squirts out of my eye.

My little brother David. I love that guy.