When we were kids:

Today is my older brother�s birthday. I�m at a loss here. He has a great power to wound and I�m afraid to say anything to him today because I have no idea what to expect in response. This is my cowardly plan: to call him as soon as I get home from work because he lives in California and will still be in the office and so I�ll just have to talk to the answering machine. I just don�t want to hear the hardness in his voice. And I don�t want to hear any of the things he has to say to me because I don't imagine any of the things are good or kind or forgiving or nice. He likes to tell me how I'm wrong and how I don't do things right and why I don't actually care about anyone but myself and no wonder I don't have any friends and no one really likes me anyway and even in the family people say things you know and you see? It's not good stuff. Downright malevolent. And most likely, the most probable outcome of me reaching out in his direction, will be a loud and ringing door slam in my direction.

Life is hard like this, isn�t it. Like my brother planning never to see or speak with me again. My grandfather, my mother�s father, decided to never see or speak with my mother again when she was 18. Here's why: my grandfather made a raft and sailed to South America to Guyana when my mother was 15. He became a diamond miner who lived on the banks of the Amazon. My mother visited him when she was 18 and he told her that she had to become a veterinarian in order to care for his animals. She said no. She never heard from him again. 30 years. He died three years ago and my mother didn�t find out until a year after the fact when her brother off-handedly mentioned it.

Well all right then. My big brother is 30 years old. All grown up I guess. I wish him love without clauses and conditions and loopholes and contracts and I wish him tolerance and I wish him the relief of forgiveness and a gentle hand to shield his eyes from the righteous sun and I wish him peace.