When did my baby brother grow up?

Last night I started to think about my family. Mostly I was thinking about my brother.  He's three years younger than me and I've always thought of him as my baby brother. Well, my baby brother is a granddad now and somewhere along the way he's become a full-grown equal to me, no longer the little brother.

My brother is a 'mensch'.  In looking up the meaning of the word 'mensch' on Wikipedia (noch!) it says that a mensch is a good person, a stand-up guy.  For sure that's my brother and also more.  A mensch is a person who makes you feel good in his presence, a person of integrity and goodness.

Funny that I feel this so much now. After my thoughts yesterday about staying alive and the journey our lives take, I realised how important my brother is in my life.  Sure, we judge each other and have different opinions on things. We certainly approach life very differently. I was always the neurotic child and he was the even-tempered one. I was the erratic mishuguna and he was the balanced one, but you know, we always loved each other, even when we couldn't understand what made the other tick.

 

My brother is open and loving and seems to radiant a sense of friendliness that I have seen people respond to almost instantly.  My father has that quality too.  I'm really pleased to see that quality in my brother, especially as we both lose our dad to his dementia.  Even now, he and my dad have this beautiful relationship and my brother can manage to be with my father in a way that I find so hard.  Maybe it's because my father was always the protector for me - the rock for my mishigas - that I find it so hard to see him slowly disappear.  My brother is just easy with him and actually most everyone he meets.

When our mother died I remember her brother (our uncle) saying that with her dying he no longer had anyone to remember his parents with.  My brother and I are lucky enough to have our spouses and children to remember our parents with, but no one else but us can remember the good and bad bits of our childhood.  Our life in the Bronx, growing up with these crazy parents, was a comedy of errors.  The days of bungalow colonies and PTA meetings and visits to the barber and trips to the mountains; no one else but my brother remembers those times.  I am really grateful that he has a great memory too.

It is wonderful that my brother speaks Yiddish. So many of our memories and stories are dependent on that.  He is fluent in Yiddish and I still remember the wonderful speech he gave in Yiddish at his bar mitzvah. My parents were bursting with pride and love and I can so clearly feel that as I remember it.  I also remember the venue for his bar mitzvah celebration going bankrupt two weeks before the big catered party and the ensuing headless chicken panic in my house.  Like I said, a comedy of errors. 

So now my baby brother is a grandpa and is bursting, absolutely bursting with love and naches from the this little adorable bundle of joy.  His son is getting married in the Spring and I am delighted for all of us. His joy is shared throughout our family and is so genuine and generous that we all feel it and share it.  That's also part of being a mensch!