Happy Birthday Brian--you little shit.

 I am always terrible at doing the math when it comes to weeks, months, and years. What I do know for sure is that my little brother Brian was born 26 years ago today. When I started thinking about how to frame this blog post, I tried to imagine back to when our parents told their three daughters that Mom was pregnant.

I remember it being Christmas time and sort of cold — which I guess is possible for a mid-August birthday. I remember thinking that my mom was way too old to even get pregnant, and them telling us that this was a wonderful surprise. And though Jennifer remembers it very differently, I remember her taking charge (as she always did as the oldest sibling) and planning for what next year’s Christmas was going to be like when we had a baby sister to spoil.

It never occurred to us that this would be a little demon spawn of a boy. But sure enough, on August 16, 1999, Brian joined our little family.

One thing the three sisters noticed right away was that because we were significantly older than him (10, 8, and 6 years respectively), our parents were worn out when it came to disciplining him. There had always been a sliding scale of consequences in our family. In fact, some of me and Jess’s greatest memories are being in trouble for something relatively serious (like sneaking out with boys), and then Jenn would come home having forgotten to put gas in the van, and suddenly Jess and I were off the hook (sorry Jennifer, we love you). But with Brian it was almost like consequences didn’t exist.

Now don’t get me wrong — growing up with three older sisters must have been a nightmare. Although, he played into it very well, and I think it’s one of the reasons he’s so charming today. He learned very early to go along, adapt, adjust, and when necessary, fib just a little in order to make girls happy. And to be very fair, with three sisters all in puberty while he was learning to walk and talk, he got to see some crazy stuff. His life could swing from the extremes of us taking him shopping in full glam makeup, to having to sleep on the back porch while our parents were out of town because we told him we didn’t want his stench on us. But no matter what, Brian always adapted, adjusted, and thrived.

Brian was never a victim, though. Ever. He turned every sisterly outrage into ammunition that he could use later. I’ll never forget one morning when Jess and I were teasing him before church, saying he was the only one of us who wasn’t adopted. We told him that’s why his hair wasn’t blonde, because the three sisters came from a magical family in Europe, and any day now our real parents were going to take us away from him because he smelled. Instead of getting mad or tattling, he just grunted, locked it away, and saved it.

Later that morning, when my parents and I walked over to pick him up from Sunday school, there was the usual banter about what the kids had learned. With an absolutely straight face, in front of me and all the parents, Brian announced: “We learned not to say bad words, like when Dani told Jessica she hoped she’d get a cactus stuck in her c**t.”

My parents turned and locked eyes on me. Behind them, I saw Brian — all of 6 or 7 years old — with the biggest smile on his face as if to say, “That’s how you do revenge, bitch.”

My mom had been a high school teacher, and the elementary school counselor (who was also our neighbor and one of Mom’s closest friends) would often stop by for visits. As Brian got older and into more trouble, those visits shifted into more of a professional courtesy to see how to get Brian to behave at school.

One night I was eavesdropping and overheard papers being spread across the table and earnest words like: “Janet, we’ve never had a student test with an IQ that high. He’s smarter than all of us.”

Genius? You mean the little shit who, in the process of lighting my very expensive Victoria’s Secret bra on fire (to see if there was really a wire), panicked and nearly burned down the neighborhood? That’s a genius?

Brian always tells me I’m the most annoying sister. I like to lie to myself and say it’s actually because he’s closest to me. I guess just before Brian turned 5, I brought a boy home — and he and Craig (now infamously Bubs) hit it off right away. Bubs got the little brother he’d always wanted, and Brian got a reprieve from all the estrogen in the house. Despite their age difference, they’ve been best friends from day one.

It’s wild to me that while Bubs and I have a history that spans proms, kids, careers, and mortgages, he and my little brother have a history just as long, filled with their own strange brand of intimacy (in whatever weird ways guys bond). In fact, I only recently found out that when Brian was 10 or 11, Bubs would take money from my mom and drive Brian across southern Texas to “boob restaurants” like Hooters and Twin Peaks. Mom loved Bubs’ influence on Brian and apparently didn’t mind facilitating their man-to-man talks — though she didn’t know the wings-and-boobs detail until years later.

The penultimate Brian story happened when he was 16. Bubs had a short break from flight training, and we planned a trip home. A week before, Brian started texting me nonstop: “Hey sis, when you’re home, can you drive me to Austin?” I was confused — he usually had plenty of ways to get there, and often he and Bubs would just go. But when he said, “I kind of just want to hang out with you!” I should have known something was up. He never wanted to hang out with me.

As it turned out, Brian had discovered how easy it was to lie about his age on Tinder, and he had a date set up with a girl in her 20s. Ever the planner, he figured there was a decent chance it would go badly (but was willing to risk it) and wanted an adult relative nearby to bail him out of jail if needed.

So Bubs and I dropped him off at a new apartment complex downtown that clearly catered to young adults. Brian brushed it off as “just where his friend lived.” We made a day of it — lunch, walking around the Capitol — until suddenly Bubs got a frantic text: “Pick me up dude, like now!”

We weren’t far away. As we pulled up, we saw Brian getting absolutely pummeled by a man in his late 20s — and Brian was laughing his head off. I jumped out to shove the guy off, furious that someone would beat up my innocent little brother. Bubs got in between them, calm but firm: “Look man, we’re getting him out of here. He’s 16. No matter what he did, you can’t beat up a kid.”

What struck me was how calm Bubs was — almost like he already knew the story. The guy was raging: “If he ever comes back, ever calls her again, I will fucking kill him. Do you understand me?” Bubs kept it cool: “I get it, man. He’ll never come back.”

As Brian slunk into the back of the Tacoma, I saw him glance up at the balconies. There, a gorgeous brunette about my age leaned wistfully over the railing, eyes sparkling for my little brother and probably the drama she caused.

When we started driving, I was fuming because the reality of what I had just been a part of started to sink in. My first question was for Brian — did he realize how close he came to getting seriously injured, or worse? His shirt was ripped from the guy swinging him around, and bruises were already forming on his neck and arms. Brian just shrugged and said, “Worth it.” That didn’t help my anger one bit, so I turned to Bubs and asked how much he’d known about Brian’s little plan. He just muttered, “Well, not everything.” Brian immediately jumped in to defend him: “Sis, don’t be mad at him — you know me.”

And he was right. Even though I was married to Bubs and had just confirmed I was pregnant with Abby, those two had a bond I would never fully understand. I screamed, fumed, and threw a full-blown tantrum the entire drive home over how reckless Brian had been. Bubs looked terrified of me, Brian sat in the backseat with the same shit-eating “yeah, totally worth it” grin on his face — which, of course, only made me angrier.

So that’s our Brian. He’s an asshole, but he’s our asshole. His eight nieces and nephews think the sun rises and sets on him, and his sisters still torture and adore him with the same mix of reverence and annoyance we did as kids.

My middle child TJ is basically Brian’s little clone — same calm expression under fire, same deep-thinking eyes, same “how can I make this go my way?” energy. Brian swears he’ll help keep TJ in line as he gets older. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

As I’ve written before, I set Brian up with his now-fiancée, Evie, and you can see from the way he is around her that he’s truly in love. So much of that wild child energy is now focused on being a good man for her. I love seeing them together — partly for the ego gratification that I set them up — but mostly because I can see how Evie has brought out the best version of who he’s always been.

While it may not be obvious from this blog, I love Brian so much. I love his taunting and teasing. I love that he can fluster me like nobody else. I love that he’s trusted me with his real feelings about both the good and not-so-good things he’s done.

Happy birthday, you little shit.