'Dialogue' spark

          We were having dinner at my brother’s house in Pennsylvania the day before heading to New Jersey to meet Tom for the first time. My brother, Kyle, has four children, two boys and two girls. All four have distinct personalities but only the youngest is a carbon copy of him – squat and ornery. We had three of our kids with us at the time. All three under the age of six and all three overwhelmed by meeting their cousins for the first time.

            Mix in five adults, including my dad, who spent most of his time on the front porch, smoking cigarettes and grumbling about the children, and it’s not an easy feat to make sure no one left the table hungry. A trip to Sam’s Club earlier in the day supplied us a child-friendly smorgasbord of hot dogs, burgers, chicken fingers, chips, pickle spears and enough mustard and catsup to paint the house red and yellow.

            The dog – a sturdy yellow lab with a melon head and persistent slobber hanging from his mouth – sat poised by the table, gobbling up his own smorgasbord of dropped food. Conversation was at a steady roar and laughter filled the cramped dining room.

            “Why the hell you going tomorrow?” my brother asked.

            “To meet our other brother,” I said as I popped the top on another beer, partly to get through the hectic dinner and partly to soothe my nerves about meeting a brother I didn’t know existed the first 40-something years of my life.

            “He ain’t my brother,” my brother snarled. “You might be a little son of a bitch but you’re the only brother I have.”

            “That’s sweet of you, Mr. Sentimental,” I countered, “but aren’t you the least bit curious about meeting Tom?”

            “Who is Tom?,” he said.

            “You’re other brother, dip shit,” I said.

            “He ain’t my brother,” he said but I cut him off before we began the same cycle.

            “Listen,” I said, “like it or not, he’s our brother. I’m excited about getting to know him and Mom is excited about all us kids getting to know him. That’s the least we could do.”

            “Least you could do is kiss my ass if you think I’m ever wasting my time on that guy,” he said.

            I changed the subject.