Matt called me a dick tonight. I’m not even kidding. Do you people see the abuse I suffer at the hands of this man? Is there no justice? Shameful.

ANYWAY, when Matt and I were out for our walk tonight we passed this field where these two kids were playing. It was a girl of maybe 12 and a boy about a year younger. They were taking turns riding a motor bike that was clearly more bike than they could handle. She got off and he got on, but the whole time he jerked the bike across the field with uneven starts and stops and near-death misses, she was running along behind him, shouting instruction, showing him the “right” way.

It made me think of my brother. He’s eighteen months younger than I am and we used to get up to the dickens, let me tell ya. We rode bikes and built forts. We raced go-carts and made five star restaurants that specialized in mud-burgers and grass fries. Two rocks served quite well as the bun. We climbed trees and got in trouble one time for building a dam in the river that made a difference miles away. We covered for each other. We ratted each other out.

We saved a girl from drowning once. We were at the river and the little section we were swimming in was really the only safe place to swim. There was a rocky drop off not far downstream, but if you stayed well away from it you would be alright. We knew about these things. We spent long summer days learning them. It’s a wonder we made it to adulthood. We were blue and devoid of feeling in our limbs due to the icy mountain water that rushed through the river, but we had no intention of getting out of the water. Our family was back at the campsite, warm and cozy, probably sipping hot chocolate by the fire. They were smart. They were not insane. Because it was the only relatively safe spot to swim in the river for miles, people sort of flocked to it. This one family had two kids, I think. There were a lot of kids there, so I’m not sure how many were theirs. Anyway, that’s not important. We see this little girl is down at that dropoff, way away from the safety zone. She ends up literally clinging to a rock to keep from going over. The rapids are washing over her and she’s maybe 5 years old. People are just sort of standing around with their mouths wide open, looking stupid. Like maybe if they stood perfectly still, she wouldn’t go over. My brother and I ran over to her from the riverbank. Once we got there we scouted out the best position and then, using each other as support, we manuevered our way to the rock where she was stranded. We worked the same way getting her back to shore. Her parents were all grateful and stuff and we were all like, “aw shucks, it wasn’t even hard!” when all the while we were so close to peeing our pants we couldn’t stand it.

We used to hunt spiders. There were these giant, ugly — I mean UGLY assed spiders behind the old outbuilding on our property. We would go out there with big, long sticks and rub them up under the spider’s bellies. These spiders had weird markings and grotesquely long legs with fat, bulbous bodies. They would wrap those terrible legs around the stick we were holding. We would lower the tip of the stick with the spider dangling from it into a jar we would place on the ground before hand. Then we would put a couple dozen more in and watch them all fight. It was horrible and I can’t believe we did it. But we’re being punished now. We’re both horribly terrified of spiders.

We used to breakdance on slick plywood in the grass. My brother would wretch and convulse on the slick top of the wood, spinning on his back or flopping up and down on his belly, doing the worm. I got a big, fat honkin’ splinter in my foot one time from trying to do the moonwalk on that damn wood. Barefoot. What a maroon!

We also used to hold microphones and sing while choreographing dance moves to Michael Jackson’s “Dirty Diana” — we were SUCH dorks.

We used to take the tape recorder and do fake interviews with each other. One person would ask the questions as if they were Barbara Walters or James Lipton and the other would ramble off these ridiculous nonsense answers in absurd voices until we both fell on the floor laughing, completely unable to breathe. My mom found one of those tapes not long ago. It was hysterical to listen to all these years later.

We used to hold marathon sessions on the Nintendo. We couldn’t WAIT to get one and when we finally did we spent all our free time trying to beat Kid Icarus or Mario Brothers. We had spiral notebooks filled with memory codes because back then, in the dark ages, the games didn’t have no fancy hard drive like you whippersnappers today have what with your X-Cube 360 Stations. We would get in trouble for being too loud, sent to bed, and be up half an hour later sneaking in a few more levels. We blew in those damn games so much we shoulda been gettin’ paid. We didn’t have no fancy CDs back then either. It was all cartridges and you had to blow and blow and blow and blow in them to get them to work. Something about them being powered by juvenile saliva, so you had to refill it every once in a while.

Ah, well. That’s the good old days for ya, full of the good — and the bad. I was just thinking about my brother tonight is all. He’s all grown up now with a family of his own. He’s got four handsome boys and he’s teaching them to ride dirt bikes and light a firecracker. All the good and dangerous stuff, like we used to get up to. He’s doing the best he can and he loves them beyond compare. They’re lucky boys.

I’ve still got seniority though. Always had it, always will.