Dairy of a Madman

Like a hero I’ve always seen you even though I would never say
And through the years, the laughter and the tears,
it’s you who were strong in the right and the wrong -
a tribute to the world that blood is thicker than water.
-Steve Vai, Brother

This is James, although you might find it easier to refer to him as The Dairy Queen. I do. I’m not entirely sure why that is, but it makes me chuckle, and I think it might you, as well.

I have other pictures of him that are probably horrifically embarrassing. For twenty dollars, I’ll send them to you. Copies, of course. They say a picture is worth a thousand dollars, and I’ve got bills to pay, baby.

James is about 7 or 8 years younger than me. I have proof of this, too, because both he and I look exactly the same as we did at the ages of one year and eight, respectively. No kidding.

Mandy and I were probably, in retrospect, terrible siblings. I don’t recall ever really abusing him too badly — my contempt for him came out as pretending he didn’t exist. Mandy, though — man, what Idi Amin could have learned from my kid sister. I think it might have been those formative years spent trapped under the bathroom sink, being forced to play with Strawberry Shortcake and My Little Pony that turned him so unabashedly gay in his adulthood.

When he was little, he giggled, and the memory of that sound is easily on the top five list of things that make me smile no matter what.

When James was seven or eight, I coached him and a bunch of other kids to a brilliant season in soccer. He was a good kid back then, too — as awkward as me (we’re not really wired for athletics), but much more adaptable. I was really proud of him.

He’s one of the best guitarists that I know, and that’s the admission that it required twenty large horses to drag out of me. Not just guitarists, but musicians, instinctively. He’s not a lead player, but he’s probably more technically proficient than anyone I can think of in this town, and incredibly creative on the writing front. He’s taking a break for the moment, but I hope that he picks it back up. He’s too good and too natural not to pursue that, at least as a hobby.

James and I have gotten much closer since I was Emo before my time and he was a little snotty brat. The weekly payments that Mom and Dad give me don’t hurt, but I would probably hang out with him even without the money. We’ve grown closer, I think, because we’ve got a lot in common — music, movies, and a sense of humor that will land one of us in jail one day.

He’s also one of only two people I’ve ever met who is genuinely and truly a great person. He’s a giving, smart, warm and funny kid. He’s stumbled along the way — not as much as me, but enough — but he learns well and reasonably quickly. He’s gonna go places.

In fact, next week, he’s leaving for New York City. I’d like to think otherwise, but given the experience with my two sisters, the distance will grow in itself. And yeah, it makes me a little sad.

But all that aside, I’m glad as hell for him. He’s found a woman that makes him happy in a healthy way (no more need for the battery cables and thumbtacks), he’s got a billion job and education opportunities, and a new world to play in.

Good luck, brother. Not that you need it, but I wish it for you just in case. And though I never say it, I love you. Any time you need me, I’ll be there as quickly as I can.

Unless 24 is on. Then it’s gonna be an extra hour.