It’s been a while. Yes, I know. I teased my 10 loyal followers with a new installment and here it is a month later b4 I decide to deliver. In my defense, I no longer receive internship hours through my school for blogging, which has caused a huge drop in my motivation. But, enough said. I’m back now. So I don’t want to hear about it.
Now I’m totally in the mood to psychoanalyze my brother.
My brother, Peter Alexander Dell’Aquila was purchased by my parents in 1989 shortly after his birth, from the Boys ‘R Us clearance rack, ruining forever my lifetime (7 year) dream of being an only child. I’m pretty sure that my first words upon seeing him were along the lines of “that’s the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen”.
Peter, or “Pete, Pete beats his meat”, as I am still fond of saying, is the peacemaker of our family. He somehow escaped the two-seconds to rage attitudes that my dad, mom and I posses and instead is able to maintain a mostly calm, laid-back, everything will work out demeanor. Mostly. I can get him to the point of rage once in a while, like when I throw ice cream in his face. Or when I scream no at him after he asks twenty times. Or when I try to make him drive inside the gate to see me. Mom can also push him to the breaking point by asking thirty-four questions all via text message and then reminding him to do the same thing six times in a day. But, that’s not his normal state…our craziness is bound to be a little contagious.
His family role growing up may have had something to do with his career path. He graduated from Aurora University with a Bachelor’s of Social Work last fall and is currently working at the intermediate school we both attended. His goal is to be a social worker in a school (and a pilot) and he is going back for his Master’s to obtain the former. Having so much experience as a mediator growing up, and living through his sister’s addiction and family’s financial struggles has made him uniquely qualified to relate to anything a child may be going through. Pete does like nice things though. Name brand things. So I’m thinking he better get moving on the pilot’s license, because social work may make him rich in good karma, but it’s never gonna keep him in Oakleys and shoes.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that my brother and I have only in the past few years become friends. We have a seven year age gap. Mom dragged Pete to my sporting events, but I sure didn’t go to his until about his senior year of high school. My sole use for my brother as a child, was as a real-live torture toy. And I was good at it. Ask him about bungee jumping, or vampires or tongue splashers bubble gum, crisco and cat food. This incessant torture has come back to haunt me ten-fold. Pete is now a giant and has been able to kick my scrawny butt since he was about twelve. And he does. Luckily I’m a glutton for punishment.
Don’t tell him, but there are a few things about him that I wish I had. He may be a master manipulator and an absolute pro at getting others to do for him, a trait I may have passed on, but in the end he is unfailingly generous and compassionate. He actually wants to help people, and people can tell…they have always been drawn to him. They are able to open up to him and feel completely safe doing so. The charisma he exudes draws people like vampires to a bleeding cut. I have to fight for time with him. I went snowboarding (and hurt for a week after) just to hang out with him. I go frolfing (which I do kinda enjoy) just to have more time with him. I mustn’t forget about humility. A trait that I know the definition of, yet have a very hard time putting into practice. Pete, on the other hand, has a hard time as the center of attention. He would much rather help someone behind the scenes than receive accolades for his deeds. My brother is a master of serenity (sometimes, maybe, possibly to the point of pure laziness). In complete opposition to my fear of the unknown and uncontrollable, Peter is able to just accept life as it comes, knowing that it will all work out in the end. He never stresses about spending twenty dollars or running out of toliet paper.
Damn, another toliet paper reference. That’s the third blog out of nine that I’ve have referenced or mentioned toliet paper in. See I told you I was obsessive. On that note…I love you bro and I wouldn’t take you back to Boys ‘R Us for all the money in the world.