My brother and I are just a little over a year apart. Until we were about 10 or so, we were basically the same height, the same weight -- there was even a brief time in there where I could beat him arm-wrestling.
He will deny it.
Don’t listen to him.
And while my brother has the ability to make me swear in imaginary languages until I'm red in the face, he also has a way of making me laugh until I go weak and have to cover my face for fear of frightening the pets, whereupon I am forced to regain my strength and assume a defensive posture, as next will come him sitting on me and offering to tickle me until I pee my pants.
We don't do that (much) anymore, by the way.
At one time our favorite argument involved what to do if we were required to go into hiding. Looking back, it may have had to do with the continual moving we did as children -- did we see ourselves as refugees? Dad said we moved a lot because it was harder to hit a moving target, but that was just clever talk for "there must be something better over there"; and we moved on a yearly -- and sometime half-yearly -- basis.
Kevin swore that we could always hide in the mountains. Never mind that we were born and raised in Minnesota. He was sure there was mountains around here someplace.
"What if there aren't any mountains?" I would say.
"Every country has mountains," he would say, dismissively. "You have to have mountains if you're a country."
I wasn't so sure about this, but hey! at eight years of age, it did make a kind of sense. As the years went by and our knowledge of the world grew, however, we developed grave concerns over where we would hide should we inexplicably find ourselves in, say, Belgium.
Kevin was sure that, somewhere in Belgium, there was a hidden mountain range.
To this day, we have this argument, although he now asserts that there was never such a discussion, that he was just pulling my leg.
I know better.
And if I ever go missing, you'll know where I am: I'm in the mountains.
Be Still and Know Me
7 hours ago