Spaghetti Arms

It was the first time I had ever had a boy over for dinner.  I was in 5th grade and my mom had made spaghetti.  In my 11 year old mind, it felt long overdue.  I thought his mullet and leather jacket were dreamy.

~I pause here to say that my son is in 4th grade.  Any mother who is reading this, should take a big gasp of a breath.  The thought of a girl being "dreamy" to my son is not just terrifying, its gut-wrenching and all-around impossible to think about~

OK.  Back to dinner.  My parents had some adult friends over.  As I set the dining room table and counted the plates, I started to panic.  Each plate represented a person, and none of those people included me or my dreamy boy that was coming to dinner.  I knew the answer before I even asked, "Mom, where are WE sitting?"

He arrived and we sat in the living room while my two crazy brothers ran around jumping from cushion to cushion on the couch.  He pretended to be amused, but he was thinking the same thing I was.  "Man, I wish they would calm down or go outside and play in the snow."  No such luck.

And then it was dinner time.  I tried to prepare him for the crazy he was about to experience as we walked past the "adult table" and into the kitchen.  There they sat at the kitchen table, Monster #1 & Monster #2.  He nervously laughed as he sat down while they clanked their forks on the table, a symbol that someone, somewhere had better be bringing them food soon.

It only went downhill from there.  They talked about their poop, they blew bubbles in their milk, they laid spaghetti noodles across his arm.  None of this comes close to comparing to the holy terror of embarrassment that followed with four simple words.  "Are you her boyfriend?"

I could tell you story after story of my ill-behaved, crazy brothers.  Stories about self-inflicted BB gun wounds, baby oil slip and slides in the hallway, mattress fires, and other down-right scary nonsense that should have caused them to be in juvenile court.  They were doozies straight out of the Herdman family.  If you don't know the Herdmans, google them and you'll read about the craziest, misbehaving family you've ever heard of that somehow sabotages a Christmas pageant and helps the world see Christmas through their eyes.  These boys were nuts.

I am the oldest child and have two younger brothers.  I am 5 1/2 years older than Tony and 7 years older than Rusty.  When I left for college, they were 11 and 12.  I wrote over Thanksgiving about Tony here.  He was the leader of the Monster Twins and quite inventive.  He would build and concoct lots of trouble for the two of them to get into.

Rusty, was a tad bit more strategic.  He was the baby and as cute as a button with a headful of curly red hair.  He played the young and innocent card long after his innocence had left.  Tony would create these crazy adventures, like convincing people to tip them for carrying their pumpkins, and then Rusty would go in the pumpkin field, bat those long eyelashes, and make a ton of money.  When they got caught, it would always be Tony's fault for thinking of it, while Rusty stood over in the corner with a pocketful of cash.

You can imagine, as an 18 year old, the idea of leaving these pre-teen devils and moving away to college, couldn't happen fast enough.  I was over their antics and wanted to get as far away from their path of destruction that I could.  I thought the feeling was mutual.

And then the letters started.  I would walk to my post office box on campus and would find the sweetest letter from Rusty.  He would tell me all about church, his science fair project, and basketball.  It was like I watched them grow up on paper.  I often imagine what it would be like to go to college 800 miles away from your family with Facebook and twitter.  There were so many days when a little post-it note sized card from my brother would make me feel like a million bucks.  I envy those that can be immediately connected now.  I craved that twenty years ago.

Its something that unexplainable, and I thank God regularly for it.  Despite many years of torment and even more years living 800 miles away, Rusty and I managed to have such a special bond.  We are extremely alike and world's apart, all at the same time.  Over the years, I have been thankful for the relationship I have with him and how close he is with Robbie, but there is nothing that brings me more joy than my son's pure adoration for his Uncle Bobo.

Tate is blessed with an amazing father, two grandfathers, and three uncles.  All of them have played a major role in who he is becoming, but as Tate gets older, he reminds me more and more of my baby brother.

Strategic.
Loyal.
Dedicated.
Honest.
And a whole lot of silly.

And when the two of them are together, its really kind of eery.  They act EXACTLY alike.

We walked into the game last night, and some man that none of us knew asked if that was Russ' nephew.  His influence oozes out of Tate and it makes me smile.

I was teary last night as the pre-game started.  I watched Tate beam with pride as he looked down on his uncle on the court.  I can only hope that Tate becomes the kind of man whose family feels as lucky and loved as we do.  Even if Lily has to endure some torment of her own.

~ao