no appreciation

I care a lot for my brother. I really do. Yes, I've considered slitting his throat in the middle of the night, or even worse, ripping up his precious football cards, but what sibling doesn't think these thoughts once in a while? I hurt when he's hurting and I'm happy when he's happy. I might laugh a little bit if his tendency to do stupid things gets himself in a mess, but after I finish cackling I'm always there to help him clean it up.

And what does this beloved brother do for me?

I care enough to sit down before his birthday and give serious thought to what his birthday present will be.

Even my little 9 or 10-year-old self was an accomplished procrastinator (I'm so proud), so the day before my brother's birthday, I dragged my mother to the beautiful maze/jungle/heaven called Toys R Us to look for the perfect present. I don't know if any of you have been to this wildly overpriced store, but my initial idea of buying a remote-controlled helicopter was not going to work out for a middle-schooler's budget.

What else does my brother like? Football! He loves football! His capacity for memorizing football stats never fails to amaze me. I once bet him $10 that he couldn't name 200 football players, their position and team. I haven't paid him anything that I owe him and I never intend to do so because I owe him more than I'll ever make in a lifetime. I bought him $20 worth of football cards. 140 more names to memorize. I refused to let my mom chip in. This was my present. She wouldn't be getting any credit for this ingenious gift.

He loved it. Of course. A little sister is never wrong. Or at least, I am never wrong. Or so I thought. Four months later, January 5th passed quite uneventfully. At the end of the day, I rounded on my brother angrily, demanding to know why I wasn't worthy enough to receive even a card for my birthday.

He scoffed at me and answered, "You never get me anything for my birthday."

I don't think I need to go into detail about what happened next. In short, there was much offended screaming on my part.

But he grew up. He matured. Or so I thought.

For his graduation, I decided to make him a small memento that he could carry to college to remind him of the darling sister he left at home. Inspired by the quotes that he wrote on post-it notes and stuck around his room and a friend (shout-out to you, bby), I spent nine hours making a small book of reasons why I loved him. 52 reasons. Nine. Freaking. Hours. I was suffering from carpal tunnel by the end of my immense task.

I went to his graduation, dressed up nicely, wore high heels and cheered as loud as I could when he walked to get his diploma. I told him how to correctly wear his cap and assured him that he didn't look as stupid as he felt. (That was a lie, but I can live with that). I waited almost an hour to talk to him, holding my present behind my back, practically quaking with excitement. I finally found him amongst the navy-clad crowd and tapped his shoulder.

"Hey, I'll see you later. I'm busy, Joy."

Yes, I did see him later. Hours later. I stayed up until midnight hoping to surprise him. He came home tired and ready to drop on the couch (he's given up sleeping in his own room, God knows why). I'm suddenly the annoying girl keeping him awake. When I gave him my reasons, he regained some manners, thanked me profusely and told me that this was "the coolest shit I've ever seen". That's a compliment.

Feeling rather pleased with myself, I told myself that there has never been a better sister in the world. I also told him that he better be grateful. He told me that he was. And I believed him.

Only two weeks ago, I was rummaging through his drawers. Why was I invading his privacy? I don't remember my motives. I was probably looking for markers or money or something of that sort. Guess what I found tucked in the corner of his junk drawer?

Needless to say, I don't feel obligated to buy him a birthday present this year.