Happy Birthday, Dude!

My parents delivered my best friend into my life when I was 19 months old.  The Dude, who has gone by various aliases, including Pooky Bear, Frank, PBoy, and Rugged, was a scrawny little boy with a big personality.  I didn't learn until I was older that when The Dude was a toddler he was close to death on a few occasions because of his asthma.  All I knew was that he spent a lot of time hospitalized and usually returned home with a new He-Man action figure.  In spite of his health issues, he was an extremely energetic kid.  I have no doubt that had he grown up in the last decade his teachers would have demanded he add ADHD medication to his big pile of asthma pills.  When The Dude was six years old our Grampy asked him if he was the smartest kid in first grade.  He responded that he would rather be the funniest kid in the first grade.  I assume he met this goal as he is the funniest person I know.  (Other goals he would have met with ease circa 1988:  worst penmanship, least capable of staying quiet, strongest reader, biggest scaredycat.)  When he was voted "Class Clown" his senior year of high school, I believe he felt a pride similar to a beauty queen being crowned Miss Universe.

These days The Dude is smart, hardworking, and successful, while still maintaining his juvenile sense of humor and his genuine excitement for life's pleasures.  He is apt to break out in song (a self-penned ditty called "I Deserve This") while indulging in a favorite snack or to dance his way down a store aisle  if one of his jams starts to play.  He launches into voices and impressions without warning.  I almost soiled his car several years ago when he looked at a Poland Springs bottle and screamed "IS THAT MY WATAH?!" in homage to Sean Penn's "Is that my daughter?!" scene in Mystic River.  Seriously, we almost went off the road.  No one makes me laugh harder than my brother.

This next paragraph might sound bonkers, but it is absolutely true.  Nearly a decade ago The Dude and I were living together in our great-grandparents' former apartment.  I went to visit my parents in Maine for a weekend and The Dude stayed back at the apartment.  In the middle of the night I woke up convinced that the smoke detectors were blasting in my parents' house.  I was sleeping in their basement and yelled to them.  My mum came down and assured me that there weren't any alarms going off, but I remained extremely agitated.  I started crying and kept repeating, "Something is wrong."  She was freaked out and had me come upstairs and sleep on the couch.  Within an hour, the phone rang.  The Dude had been mugged and assaulted.  Fortunately he and a friend escaped without serious injury, though he was bloody and shaken up.  The attack had happened right at the time that I had woken up knowing something was wrong. 

And now how to transition from that story. . . .

Very happy birthday wishes to my baby brother/dear friend/emergency contact/possible psychic connection.  May your day be filled with the love of your family and friends, a sufficient amount of sleep, a variety of delicious snacks, music, laughter, inappropriateness, and some sort of victory.  I look forward to celebrating with you, pal!

The Dude on his first birthday.  Possibly the only time he ever enjoyed chocolate cake.