Happy Birthday, LBM!

Little Brother Matt (LBM) turns 48 today! (Well, tomorrow, but I think it will be today when he gets it.) For as long as I can remember, LBM has signed any card, in all caps. BROTHER MATT. Sister Jen (SJ), the sister between us in age, calls him Brother Matt. I started calling him Brother Matt, but then when I was going to email him and use the first letters as an abbreviation, I would write to BM, and I couldn’t do that. Growing up, we used BM (standing for bowel movement), when we were going to talk about what other kids called “poop.” (I went to a sailing camp and knew the bow was the front of a boat, so for a long time I puzzled over why this wasn’t a “Stern Movement.”)

LBM is not poop. He is funny and smart and has been through some dark times, which have deepened him. He’s a father and loves his three kids, who are each remarkable in their own ways. He also loves dogs, and they love him, and I believe dogs are excellent judges of character. (They’re like we should be, mostly loving and sometimes concerned or downright disapproving.)

LBM is six years younger than I am, so when I left for college, he was twelve years old. I must have thought of him as a somewhat fragile toy as he was growing up. A couple of times, SJ and I dressed him up: once as Santa Claus and once as an old man. My cousin Lori and I once dressed her younger brother Kenny and LBM as girls. LBM wore my wrap-around pink and green frog skirt, which fit him perfectly as a long skirt. We took photos, and then I lost and forgot about the roll. Mom found it, developed it, and looked at the photos with me. When she got to the photos of LBM dressed as a girl, she said, “She’s a pretty girl. Who is she?”

I said, “Mom, look really close.”

She studied the photo for a while and finally said, “Nope. I don’t know her. But she sure is pretty.”

I was amused. “Mom, that’s your son.”

Mom was not amused, and all the blood ran from her face.

The years when he was especially little, LBM slept in a sleeping bag on the blue shag carpet that ran along the hall to the kids’ rooms. This was about the time that SJ and I discussed LBM and his fears one day. We wondered together if he might be gay and agreed that we would always love him and would help our parents love him, too. We never spoke about it again.

As it turned out, I am the gay one and SJ and LBM have always loved me and have helped my parents accept me and my partner, Ann. (It would take my brain tumor for them to love Ann.)

When LBM received the coming out letter I sent him, he says he sat on his porch, letter in hand, and cried. Then he sent me a letter saying that he would always love me, and he understood that because I was unable to be in a relationship with him, him being my brother and all, (despite what some folks think about Southerners), he understood that I would be disappointed in all men and must therefore be a lesbian.

LBM has always been funny in a kind way. During radiation for my second brain tumor, when I was writing a Caring Bridge blog, he often commented in a way that built community. I had hoped to share an example with you, but my files are too much like Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler’s  (Bologna was the key, as I remember) to find his old comments. Even online, he was funny and kind, able to make us all laugh and bring us together.

Because I couldn’t find his comments from my blog, I’ll share an example of his humor that Dad told me about. When LBM was in college, Dad confronted him about how much he was spending on clothes. Dad said, “You’ve spent as much this year as I have in the last decade.”

Matt responded, “Yeah, but look at your clothes.”

As Dad told me the story, he laughed and acknowledged that LBM had a point.

As LBM and I straddle the half-century mark, six years isn’t as significant as it used to be. Though he lives in Connecticut and I live in Seattle and we live very different lives, we’ve grown closer. I feel lucky that he’s in my life. I hope that his kids and my sister’s kids are able to be there for each other like LBM and SJ have been for me. That’s a gift to pass through the generations. (Early signs are promising.)