My Brother Jordan

During our first decade together, my brother and I had an antagonistic relationship. He was four years my junior but almost always as big as me (and could really pack a punch!--I remember a chicken fight where I ended up with a bloody nose), and for a long time I resented that he'd robbed me of my only-child status.

We tormented one another in the usual ways: stealing each other's stuff, copying what the other would say, looking at the other one too long. I was really mean to Jordan when we were kids.

I stole his beloved blanket, Woobie, and pretended to sell it.

The day he got a fish hook stuck in his face (after practicing casting in the driveway), I insisted on taking pictures of his hookeye before I would call our mom to tell her what happened. For years later I referred to him as "Hook," and used the pictures as blackmail.

I would paint his nails and dress him up in tutus, opening him to ridicule from his friends and from our uncles (who were only five years older than me--they're the ones who taught me all of these malicious tricks).

But then something happened. Something named Chloe.

When I was fifteen and Jordan was eleven, our sister Chloe entered our lives. You may remember that we'd had a family meeting to decide whether we should get a dog or a baby and we unanimously decided on the dog.

Chloe's arrival turned our worlds upside down. We'd recently moved from South Florida to Maryland, and Jordan and I didn't know many people. All of a sudden we were allies instead of enemies, and we joined forces to torment Chloe (and our parents).


There were still plenty of times that I didn't like Jordan, and probably plenty more that he didn't like me. Let's be honest--Jordan was annoying and I was a bitch. But as we got older we really did begin to enjoy each other's company more. We would make videos to mail to our friends in Florida (the one that really sticks out in my mind featured a 12-year old Jordan in a curly rainbow wig doing a dramatic lip synching to No Doubt's "Don't Speak"), and we would dare each other to do reckless things around the house (many of which involved trees, roofs, and trampolines, and many of which ended in trips to the hospital).

As I've gotten older, I've really started to appreciate Jordan. Nobody can make me laugh the way that Jordan can. We suffered through childhood and adolesence and our crazy parents together, and we understand one another in a way that nobody else does.

Tonight I was on the phone with Jordan, shit talking several of our family members and laughing hysterically, when the conversation took a turn for the worse.

J: Oh man, that was one of the most retarded things I've ever done in my life.
M: What'd you do?
J: You wouldn't believe me if I told you .
M: Yeah I would. Tell me!
J: So, uh, I'm sitting here, right. And I have a beer in one hand and my phone in the other. I reached back to pull up my pants and I poured beer right down my asscrack.
M: I'm putting this on the blog!
J: Oh man, now it looks like I've crapped myself. Right down the crack of my ass, too. Like a funnel.

I love this kid. But what kind of big sister would I be if I didn't share his beer-down-asscrack foibles with the world?