A Best Friend Can Creep Up on You

I bought a 1995 Jeep Wrangler last May. I’ve wanted a Jeep since the age of 11. The same time that I determined I wanted to be a journalist.

I managed to become a journalist back in the early 1990s, when I worked as a Page One daily newspaper editor for a now defunct chain of papers owned by Knight-Ridder. It was a great job - so fun to do the thing you dreamt of since you were wee.

But that dang car. That's another thing. As much as I love it’s rattly rat-trap-ness, it has been an albatross. I’ve put in a serpentine belt. That cost a few hundred dollars.

A couple of months later, I had the serpentine belt pulleys shear off on one of the coldest days of the year while in bumper to bumper traffic in the last snowstorm of the year. I was in St. Paul’s spaghetti junction – an area with no shoulders on which to pull off – and in temperatures that were beginning to plunge to -30 without windchill factored in. I talked to my mechanic while the thermostat was redlining, hoping not to melt the engine into a block of scrap iron. He urged me to get off the road anyway I could. I drove like a jerk, flashers on, nearly shoving people out of my way to get to a SuperAmerica so I could plead with a tow truck driver to come tow the darn thing to my mechanic for a diagnosis. (In the end, for a crummy situation, things turned out great. The engine wasn’t reduced to rubbish. The tow truck driver was kind and pleasant and funny on a wretched Minnesota night. I got home safe.)

But now I’m on to a wrecked transfer case, crap rear-end, and the need for back brakes. All after my younger brother offered to install – and did install - front brakes to get rid of the brake-noise in the front end. Which turned out to be the transfer case, back brakes and rear end.

You see where this is going, right?

Even though I love the Jeep, it’s loud. Rattly. And it’s a disaster. Probably I should use this forum to grouse about that heap. The heap I need to sink 2-grand into. But that’s not really the point.

Instead, the point is that through this weird experience my little brother has become someone or something I never expected – a trusted advisor, a safe harbor. I always knew he was a good kid, but I didn’t quite realize that the good kid grew into a wonderful man, father and husband. And an unparalleled brother.

It's easy to get glimmers once in a while of something unexpected happening in someone you love. But when do you really SEE it? Life seen in slices is hard to piece together.

For me, the answer to when I saw him as a trusted advisor is “I didn't. It creeped up on me.”

It all came together today, when we had lunch after a presentation I did on Social Media for the Minnesota Clerks and Finance Officers with a coworker.

My brother and I – and a coworker – went to lunch. I gave my brother a gift card to REI as a “thank you” for his time and work on the front brakes of the Jeep, and for time diagnosing the disaster of new repairs needed on the Jeep. He didn’t want to take it. I had to threaten that if he didn’t, he’d just get it wrapped in a birthday card this weekend.

His approach was part irritated dad, part frustrated friend. (I finally shut up and tried to mutter “Thanks.” But I didn’t quite succeed. He’s still my little brother, you know? I’m supposed to help him.)

But that wasn’t what drove it home. It started this summer when my my brother's youngest son - my nephew - had a complex surgery to help him better walk. The kiddo has Cerebral Palsy - http://www.ucp.org/ucp_local.cfm/90. My brother and his wife spent 6 weeks at the hospital in St. Paul during their son’s recovery. I visited them a lot, and watched my brother encourage his son, hug my sister-in-law and interact with other parents at the hospital. I visited to give them a break from the hospital, and to stay with my 6-year-old nephew. But they never really left their son. They went for short walks. Or grabbed a bite to eat. But they mostly wanted to be near their son.

Publicly, my brother never wavered in his support of his son. He never let any sorrow or frustration with the hand dealt show. Nor did his wife - who is equally amazing, really.

That’s when I started to realize my brother was someone I’m fortunate to have in my life. I don't even know how to describe it. This kid grew into a college kid and then into a cop and into a detective and somewhere in there, transformed into a well-balanced, stable, thoughtful, generous, good man. When did this happen?!

When you’re young, you don’t realize that the kid brother you pick on will be such a neat adult. You don’t realize that when you’re in 10th grade, and he’s in 8th grade, and he’s finally strong enough to punish you (by sitting on your head and dealing you an incapacitating fart that leaves you screaming for mercy and hoping your mom shows up) that you actually will choose to hang out with him when you are an adult. Or that you'll be sad when you learn he has other plans for his weekend than those you proposed.

My little brother is becoming a best friend. He might not know it. And he might not want it. But for me, that's what's happening.

I’m looking forward to the chance this might happen with our other, even younger brother- who, by the way, might be on his way via a completely different route!

It's the Little Things, Stupid

A new relationship can be confusing. I'm dating a kind and gentle man. We spent the weekend doing what can only be described as mundane and ordinary things. We did some home repair work, bought groceries, took the dog to the park.

Saturday we went to Menards to get salt pellets for the water softener. He was kind enough to lug the 50-pound bags of pellets to the basement. I'm no shrinking violet, no weak little thing. I'm a Yeti-sized kid from South St. Paul. I'm well able to carry bags of water softener salt. But he wanted to. And I let him. It was a kind gesture on his part.

On my part, it was a breakthrough. Maybe that's an exaggeration. But it was something, that's for sure. Most days I refuse help, my mantra "I'll get it" or "No biggie, I'll do it" and I just keep moving.

I joke with my roommate that we'd be the perfect couple. I do the home repair stuff, shovel, carry heavy things. She cleans up the yard after the dogs, buys the toilet paper because I forget. We'd be the perfect couple if only we both wanted to be with women.

The point is that I'm used to doing stuff like lugging bags of salt from the store to the car. From the car to the house. Downstairs. Tearing the bag open with my teeth (yes, it's stupid). And I'm used to wrestling the bags up to dump them into the water softener. I'm used to manual labor, "running a shovel" as my dad called it, to plant a garden or rebuild a rock retaining wall.

But with this man, I want to slow down. I want to let him help me. And I want to be helped by him. It may be that I'm opting to let myself be vulnerable, in a sense.

Letting someone help is one of the most difficult things I've tried to do. But I'm glad I have a chance to spend time with someone from whom I want to be helped.

Later Saturday evening we ran out for groceries, and stopped for a cup of coffee. We were going to read The Onion and City Pages, but the shop had a Chess set. I'd never played before. I let him teach me. Right now I'm rotten at the game, but he's eager to teach me. I'm looking forward to it.