Brotherly love

There’s increasing evidence that birth order is a determining factor in personality, social intelligence, and lots of other important things.  As an oldest child, I totally buy into this theory.  We fall into our places in our families at an early age.  And no matter how old we are, and how far we come in  our lives,  sometimes family dynamics never change.

My sister and I are 18 months apart, and shared a room until I went away to college.  Which meant that our younger brother was automatically left out of our little sorority.  If we played with him at all back then, he was useful only as the student when we played school.  That way we could both be the teachers.  But mostly we excluded him from our games, our room, and our lives.

And just now I  had this terrible realization that I’ve continued this pattern–and I’ve completely excluded him from my blog.   So here are:

5 Things you should know about my brother

1.  He doesn’t read my blog.  He probably would if he used a computer more often.  Maybe he’ll start after he reads this.

2. He is one of the few Jewish men I know who is handy, and knows how to use power tools.  I have no idea how he learned this skill.

3. He also knows how to cook–and I do know how he learned that skill.  His first specialty was making the Caesar salad at Chandler’s Restaurant in Miami Beach.  He learned how to make it the authentic way, complete with a coddled egg, from the headwaiter who used to prepare the salad right at the table.  My brother was maybe 9 years old.  He still makes the same salad, although now he leaves out the egg.  (I don’t even know what a coddled egg is.)  Possibly his Caesar salad might  be the second time I share a recipe on my blog.

4.  By complete coincidence, his dog has the exact same name as our cat: Peppy.

5.  When he was a little kid, he always said he wanted to be a doctor.  He was a little wild back then.  To me, the concept that anybody would put their life in the hands of my younger brother was a really scary thought.  Not anymore.  Our mom died when my brother was only 13, so she never got to introduce him as “my son, the doctor.”  She would have been so proud.