Inferior Imitator

ep·i·gone n. A second-rate imitator or follower, especially of an artist or a philosopher.

Tuesday, May 11, 2004

Lew (we used his initials to differentiate around the house from my dad – it would have been horribly confusing, and he goes by Lysle anywhere else) is my brother. He is a natural clown, and spent a great deal of his childhood making us laugh. Half-a-man, boy in a tube, Deebo…the very thought of these antics are enough to make us burst into giggles. Half-a-man! The visual on this one…man, I wish there was a picture. Somehow I can’t help but think that Lew is the instigator of our dinner laugh-fests, but it just doesn’t work when all of us are not there, so I know we feed off each other. Ever seen the Blue Collar Comedy Tour Movie? It’s like when the four guys are sitting together at the end, just making each other laugh, and half the fun is seeing them crack each other up. It’s like that at our house.

Lew likes cars, machinery, things that move. Once when he was two, he got himself locked in the cab of the combine. We have no idea how he got up there, but there was an hour of panic before we found him. He’s spent the past several years of his life and a great deal of his own money restoring Dad’s old ’53 Ford half-ton. I’m not sure it will ever be finished, but it gave Dad and Lew something to bond over, and I envy them that.

There are two basic things my brother and I do together: play video games and wrestle. We have damaged furniture, each other, and any respect as young adults by our antics, but we just can’t help the attack when the opportunity presents itself. It usually ends when we start fighting too dirty (poking is okay, but downright tickling is dangerous) or we get too tired. We don’t get on each other’s nerves like Emily and I do. I don’t know if that is the age difference, or our personalities don’t clash as much, or the simple fact that we didn’t have to share a room.

Lew and I are a lot alike. We both take our schoolwork extremely seriously, and have high expectations of ourselves. We both have trouble with anxiety. I have lightened up considerably as the years pass, and I’d like to think I would have been more like Lew was in high school if I hadn’t had such difficulty in grade school. A little more social, a few more friends, a little more confident. Who knows?

Lew is going to make some woman an excellent husband. He is sweet, considerate, smart, handy around the house, hilarious as hell, and he puts the toilet seat down. Oh yeah, and I suppose he might be pretty good-looking, too. But don’t tell him I said any of that.

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