Dear Good Child,
If someone asked me if I had any regrets in life, my only regret would be blowing off the toast at your wedding. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I was a puddle of tears and snot and felt unequal to the task. All I remember was being in awe of how many people love you, and how the little piece of paper stuffed into my palm seemed hopelessly inadequate.
I don’t remember what I wrote, but there are some things I should tell you now. I can’t tell them to your face, or even send this to you, because then you would become insufferable and God knows you are already bordering on intolerable. Just ask your wife.
- Speaking of your wife, you were really, really smart to marry someone a bazillion times more lovable than you. Your glorious bride and your insanely cute Brazilian offspring are the reasons why you are now Good Child, so please keep that shit up for the time being so I can continue to fly under the radar. Meanwhile, WATCH YOUR BACK, GRASSHOPPER! MEDIUM CHILD IS ON THE RISE!
- All that physical torture (aka “The Better Way”) you inflicted on me during my childhood came in handy later in life. I’m pretty sure the only reason Fauxhawk is dating me is because of my freakish strength and my talent for getting out of impossible wrestling holds. Maybe this was all part of your divine plan for me. I’ve always been your project.
- Remember when you convinced the bitchy girl upstairs who used to bully me to join me in a boxing match? And you padded our hands with socks? And then “made” us fight each other? That was totally twisted, but damn, you knew I hated that girl and that it felt pretty great to whoop her ass. I never thanked you for the opportunity. I’m pretty sure that makes me a bad person, but probably not as bad as you.
- Speaking of bad, I’m not sure anyone can play a board game with you without wanting to punch you in the face - especially when you mess up the board because you’re losing. But I always forgive you because you get all sheepish and sorry, and willingly say so. I consider that an excellent quality. It also helps that you are one of the funniest people I know and can make me laugh even when I want to stab you with a spork. Also good.
- Remember when mom tried to pull off that stunt with the staplers and tape dispensers in our Christmas stockings and thought we wouldn't notice that it was incredibly lame? But we did, and you gave her shit for like, seven years? Because staplers are like the opposite of fun? That was awesome.
- You came all the way to Egypt to visit me when I was homesick and alone in a strange country, just starting out in life. Little kids threw rocks at you wherever we went, but you didn’t mind. You’ve always encouraged me to do gutsy things.
- No one - I repeat NO ONE - does a better Riverdance than you. When you channel that Michael Flatley shit, it’s a little scary how real it is. YOU ARE LORD OF THE DANCE!
- When I was a kid, your approval meant more to me than anyone else’s. Your standards are impossibly high, your judgment is ruthless, but when you give praise, it’s like waking up to a snow day. I still feel that way.
- You lucky bastard - you got mom’s incredibly long legs and dad’s unfailing loyalty. Trade you for the legs?
- Thanks for covering for me when I used to sneak out of bed to watch the Thriller video on MTV. Somehow, you knew it was important for my development as a fully self-realized woman.
Love,
Your sister
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This picture is a re-post. It basically captures the spirit of our family dynamic, but the picture I really wanted to post is of my two brothers and me sitting on the back steps of my parents' house at the beach when we were 5, 10 and 15, hating life and looking so fucking ungrateful and miserable that my dad had to capture it on film. I don't know where it went. If I find it, I'll post it for you.
