A short history of my brother told through childhood disasters

People, there are more conventional ways to write about my brother on his birthday. I could so easily write about the man he has become, the things he has accomplished, the nieces and nephew he has given me, the person he is...

..but I knew him before all that and unfortunately for him, I have evidence. My childhood memories of my brother Tony involve an unusual number of minor disasters like a broken TV, a broken jar of jam, a bleeding tongue, a bathtub baptism, a one very very questionable commercial transaction involving my property.

Let's start with the TV. One day, the TV got spoilt and we were asked who had done it. Tony's answer was immediate "All of us." I strongly disagreed and in my little voice I said, "not me, not me, when I came from school, I put my uniform on the bed and went to the kitchen." Even as a child, I understood the importance of establishing an alibi. Tony was having nothing of that. "All of us," he said again. To this day, I do not know who actually spoilt the TV. It was those black and white ones with a wood frame and aerials. I only remember that while I was busy separating myself from the accused, Tony had already decided that we were a collective. If one went down, apparently we all went down. 

As for the jar of jam... Hmm... We were stealing jam when the jar broke. This should have been the natural end of this theft operation but greed is such a powerful thing. We took the broken pieces of glass, hid behind a chair, and continued licking jam off the broken glass. I sliced my tongue right down the middle all the way to the tip of the tongue. Now, my brother had previously had stitches on his tongue a few months earlier (another story) and knew how painful they were. He prayed for me to be healed. He told God that he did not want his little sister to experience the pain he experienced. My tongue healed. There might be a sermon somewhere in the fact that God answered the prayer from thieves, but let us leave that theological matter alone. 

There there was the baptism. This one I only know because my mother told me. Apparently, Tony once baptised me in the bathtub. He immersed me in water with conviction. I have questions as to what denomination we were operating under, was there a sermon, did I consent? We may never know. I was baptised in the bathtub. 

One other one, last one, I promise, was the sweets. I wanted sweets. Tony, ever committed to solving problems and making sure I got what I asked for, found a way to get me some. He sold one of my toys and used the money to buy me sweets. Hmmm... when I think about it, this generosity becomes less generous under financial scrutiny. He had essentially converted one of my long-term assets - a toy, into a short-term consumable presented the proceeds back to me as an act of love. Technically, he bought me nothing. I bought the sweets myself and I did not know I had entered into an asset-disposal agreement. Still I got my sweets. His financial governance was weak but his intention was excellent.  

I guess this is why I love these stories because buried inside all the childhood chaos, Tony was already becoming himself. The boy who said "all of us" understood loyalty, and he is loyal to a fault. They boy who prayed over my bleeding tongue understood compassion. The boy in the bathtub who worried about my eternal salvation enough to baptise me himself had faith, although with slightly more spiritual authority then was officially granted to him. The boy who sold my toy understood that if his sister wanted sweets, somewhere, somehow, capital had to be raised. He sold my property to finance my happiness.

Years later, the disasters have become family stories even as the broken TV doesn't matter, the jam jar is long gone, I did not get stitches on my tongue, the baptism has held, and I do not miss the toy that was sacrificed to the sweets economy. But I remember Tony, which is the privilege of growing up with someone. You get to remember who they were before they became adults, before they become serious and all. 

When I look at the stories I realise that the person Tony became was already there, maybe not fully formed, but there nonetheless in flashes of loyalty, kindness, faith, generosity, protectiveness, resourcefulness. These 4 ridiculous stories explain him better than any list of adjectives

On his birthday, I do not want to give him a description of the man he is today, but a reminder that I remember the boy he was. I am glad that through all these years, it has still been ALL OF US. 

Happy Birthday Tony.