When I was very young, maybe 6 or 7, my older brother (I’ll continue to refer to him as Genius) had a bad fall off his bike. He split his chin open and my dad had to take him to the hospital. I remember it as being night, but it’s very possible that my mind isn’t catching all the details accurately. My mom stayed home with me. My younger brother, Allah yirhamu (God rest his soul), must have been a toddler, but I don’t remember him being there. What I do remember is how concerned I was about Genius. I was so worried. What was going to happen to him? Would they be able to fix him? What if they couldn’t fix him; what then? I’m sure my mom tried to calm me, but I don’t really remember that. All I remember is the feeling: being petrified that something bad was going to happen to my older brother.
I felt like they were gone for hours. And during the whole time, I just kept praying he would be okay.
What felt like a lifetime later they finally walked in the door. And do you know what Genius had in his hand? Guess. Go on, guess. Nope, try again. Give up?
He had in his hand a McDonald’s bag. There I had been, worrying my ass off about this kid, and he’d been having a grand ol’ time at good ol’ Mickey D’s! And, to top it all off, he didn’t even bring me any chicken nuggets!
Ok, so I obviously don’t remember whether or not he brought me anything, but you get the picture.
At the time, I don’t actually think I cared whether or not he brought me any chicken nuggets; I was so incredibly relieved that he was home and, besides for the bandage on his chin, that he was fine. I was so incredibly relieved.
I recently got a glimpse of this same kind of sibling love between my own children. Generally speaking, my kids do get along, Alhamdulillah. They fight sometimes of course, but more often than not, they’re causing trouble as a posse. God bless them.
A couple of weeks ago, my 15 year old, M, woke up in the middle of the night in a choking fit. He couldn’t breathe. It was a terrifying experience for all of us, including my younger kids. When the fit subsided and his breathing went back to normal, the younger kids kept saying, “Is M ok?” “Mom, don’t send M to school today.” As my youngest kissed me goodbye that morning she said to me, “Mom, take care of M.”
These moments of trouble, as horrible and distressing as they are, are also blessings from God, to let us see this beautiful love that may otherwise live masked for years. I hope the three younger kids all remember how they felt that morning, how anxious they were for M, how much they loved him. And I hope he remembers it as well.
That kind of brotherly love, that’s God’s gift, people. If you’re lucky enough to be blessed with it, cherish it. Cherish it in your youth, and return to it as you get older. And don’t let anything make you forget it, especially money, the demon known to pull families apart.
Oh, did I tell you about the time Genius borrowed a thousand bucks from me on an “inside tip”?
Well, that’s a story for another time.