Because of my muscle wasting disease, I have very little physical ability, but for the most part, I never notice it, and a large reason for that has always been my brother’s endless willingness to help me.
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In the excerpt from my upcoming memoir that was featured on GMP last week, you were introduced to my younger brother, Andrew, who plays a central role throughout my story. Today, I want to explore what it means to be a good brother, using Andrew as my example.
I’ve decided to stop using that phrase—my arms and legs—because the bond that we share runs so much deeper than physical assistance.
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When I speak of my brother, I often use the phrase that he is “my arms and legs.” I mean it as the absolute highest of compliments. Because of my muscle wasting disease, I have very little physical ability, but for the most part, I never notice it, and a large reason for that has always been my brother’s endless willingness to help me. Whether it’s brushing my teeth or helping me use the bathroom or driving me to Philadelphia to pick up a friend, Andrew is there when I need him.
However, while reflecting on our relationship, I’ve decided to stop using that phrase—my arms and legs—because the bond that we share runs so much deeper than physical assistance. I guarantee he’s going to give me crap for being sentimental.
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Andrew and I have the same sense of humor. When we are together, we can communicate with each other using nothing but sarcasm, facial gestures, and subtle eye movements. This occasionally gets us in trouble at the family dinner table, as we silently poke fun at our parents, attempting to keep our laughter to a stifled minimum.
A few weeks ago, I found myself cowering in the corner of my kitchen, laughing and screaming hysterically as he pelted me with frozen chicken fingers.
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He’s extremely protective of me. Last year we went to a concert together at a small venue in Philly. Right away, we realized the crowd was going to be pretty rambunctious, not the safest place for a highly fragile kid in a wheelchair to be hanging out. I would surely get squashed. We considered moving to a “safer” area of the floor, which would’ve been the very back where the view sucked, but Andrew told me he’d just make sure no one fell on me. And for the entire two hour show, he did exactly that. I don’t know which was more enjoyable to watch: the show, or my brother indiscriminately plowing through anyone that came near me.
We fight all the time but never actually get mad at each other. A few weeks ago, I found myself cowering in the corner of my kitchen, laughing and screaming hysterically as he pelted me with frozen chicken fingers. Apparently they were “his” chicken fingers, which caused some outrage when he came home from work to see that I had eaten half the bag for lunch. When the barrage stopped, I said some very nasty things, and so did he. Two hours later we were on our way to get dinner together, laughing about his overreaction.
We get into trouble. I suppose this was more true in our younger years, but we really were not good at considering consequences. On a very rainy day many years ago, the two of us were bored out of our minds. We decided to go outside to play in the rain, using a poncho to cover my electric wheelchair to keep me from exploding. Next to our house there is a big grassy hill, and one of us came up with the brilliant idea of turning it into a natural slip-n-slide. I sat at the top of the hill, cheering my brother on in the pouring rain as he ran, jumped, and slid down the hill over and over. A football was brought out and added to the games. Soon the grassy hill was a muddy hill, as my brother had torn up most of the lawn with his spectacular slides. Then, our very angry, screaming neighbor came outside to inform us that the hill was her property. Whoops! We were both grounded and forced to pay for the replanting of her lawn. But hey, we had a good time.
We make fun of each other. Here are some real things Andrew has said to me since I received my book deal and began writing:
“I’m not reading your book. You know that, right? I’m not buying a copy either.”
“I hope the publisher accidentally prints your book with just 200 blank pages inside.”
“Put my name in the title.”
“Can I write the bio in the back so I can make you sound stupid?”
Don’t worry, I had responses for these:
“That’s probably a good idea. There are lots of big words that you won’t be able to sound out.”
“It would still sell more copies than any book you’ll ever write.”
“Sure: ‘Andrew’s Better Brother, Shane’.”
“No, but you can go outside and lay down in the street for a while.”
Obviously I can only include the least vicious excerpts from our banter.
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I hope you can see that Andrew is so much more than my arms and legs. He’s my best friend and someone I look up to tremendously. I’ve always used that phrase to signify how much he helps me, which he does, but it’s more than physical assistance because of my disability. He helps me laugh and have fun and enjoy life even on my most difficult days. I can never thank him enough for being so cool.
Andrew, if you need help reading this, give me a call and I’d be happy to help.
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I love this, especially your very funny responses to your brother Andrew about your book. I hope it is a best-seller!