Read Letters To My Little Brother: Misadventures In Growing Older Online
Authors: Matt McKinney
CHAPTER Sixteen:
How I love you
Dear Squirrel,
In February of 2012 — amidst a tumult of mania and sorrowful masturbation — I decided to begin writing these letters to you. While I saw everyone else growing nostalgic for the glory days of high school, I kept having night sweats about learning to grind at my junior prom (with a girl that was both larger than me and who was not my prom date). While I heard everyone talk about the value of their college classes, I shuddered over how I’d been so clueless about the clitoris.
In the end, though, I thought I had some stories to share and some things to say. (I also decided I could use something more productive to occupy my busy hands.) I thought you needed to prepare yourself for college and learn from my mistakes. I thought you needed someone to make you laugh. Now, two years later, you’ve ignored my lessons, avoided my mistakes, and never laughed at my jokes. One-for-three isn’t too bad, right?
Brotherhood is a funny thing like that. See, you’re my best friend. Period. You always will be. I’ve got a few other best friends, but I rarely talk to any of them about them about why
You Belong With Me
is better than
Love Story
. You’re that special to me. It doesn’t really matter to me whether you read my letters or not. I’m happy just knowing that I’ve tried to put you in a better place than I found myself.
Here’s a list of how much I love you:
As much as I love you as my younger brother, I’ve always wondered what it’d be like if I had an older brother, or if you were my older brother. I have an older sister — and she’s great and all — but she’s not a big brother. That’s a different dynamic. I wonder what our conversations would be like. Would he be a benevolent teacher like me?
Older Brother
: Matt, you probably shouldn’t eat that pesto. The last time you did, you shit green for a week.
Me
: Thanks, Older Brother!
Or would he be a trickster?
OB
: Matt, you probably should compliment girls at parties. They’re always attracted to the sober, shy, sweet ones.
Me
: Really? That’s great news for me!
OB
: They also love it when you’re really verbose and loquacious and talk about your classes, your Yoda impression, your intellectualized value system, etc.
Me
: How detailed can I get? Should I mention the warts on my feet?
OB
: Definitely. Or, better yet, tell her about how you’ve got bad stage fright in the bathroom, even when you’re alone.
Me
: Thanks, Older Brother! I love yo
u
<3
Or would he be downright mean?
OB
: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha —
Me
: It’s not that funny…
OB
: — hahahahahahahaha. You… you seriously —
Me
: This is hurting my feelings. I’m going to have to go to years of adult therapy for this.
OB
: — you seriously thought she “didn’t want any guys in her life right now”? Ahahahahahahahahahaha! And did you really think that the pesto wouldn’t give you leprechaun diarrhea for a week either?? Bahahahahahaha!
Me
: This is what it must feel like to be Ron Weasley… and I still think he should’ve died at the end of the seventh book…
As much as I wish I could have that kind of relationship, it does feel fun sometimes to realize that I am the trailblazer for you. Like I’m Meriwether Lewis battling across the massive, unmapped terrain of awkwardness and dirty jokes. Or like I’m Batman and you’re Nightwing (cause Robin is kinda annoying) and I’m showing you how to kick the asses of bullies and embarrassment. Or like I’m a big dorky kid with a love for words, a dark sense of humor, and a penchant for talking too much, and you’re a quiet dope that nonetheless absorbs my stories.
I also like to think about what you’d write to me if you had your own blog. What kinds of things would you say? Would you have the same voice I do? Would you be sarcastic, dark, and weepingly sentimental? Like:
Dear Big Boy,
How’s it going? Just thought I’d check in. Cause I’ve never done that before. Ever. I know you’ve been busy pretending to work and mucking up your online dating escapades and all. It must be difficult napping twice a day because you’re sad about your writer’s block. Chin up, dude. You’ve got some good things going. Like… like flipping the page on your border collie wall calendar. And… and… yeah. At least there’s that.
I see that you’ve trimmed your beard a little bit. That’s cool. A little more “Ryan Gosling” and a little less “creepy Internet killer.” And you’ve started gelling your hair back a little bit. It looks good. But I seriously think you’re going for the Ryan Gosling look. Stop. You can’t be Ryan Gosling. First of all, he’s a way better driver. Second, he’s way better at everything because he’s Ryan Gosling. You need to stick closer to your niche: lonely tall guy.
You’ve also been hitting the gym again. Looking good, good looking! Putting on some mass and getting those muscles back again. If all that protein powder didn’t make your farts smell like moist chocolate cabbage, then I’d say you’re getting your mojo back.
Sort of. You’ve kinda sorta messed up your whole love life. Not that it really matters. You’ve got some sweet paychecks coming your way. You’ve got episodes of Doctor Who and Arrested Development to catch up on. Your love life is totally secondary now.
Who are we kidding? You might have plenty of things to fill your time, but you always end up thinking about your love life before you fall asleep every night. You might not want to put forth the effort to reap the benefits of a relationship, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re lonelier than Nemo in a toxic sea of chemical waste, fish skeletons, and nuclear fallout. Just kidding. You’re not lonely. You’re just misanthropic and extroverted at the same time.
One-armed hug,
-Squirrel
At the end of the day, I’m still your older brother and you’re still my little brother. That’s just what was in the cards for us. And, I must admit, that’s been surprisingly difficult for me. It’s not always a conscious stressor, but I often struggle to know if I’m supporting you adequately enough. I wonder if I’ve given the right traits to you. Did you get your sense of humor from me? Do you laugh at everything regardless of how dark or lighthearted or dry or witty it is? Did you inherit my need for introspection? Did I pass along my goals of becoming an astronaut, global dictator, or fashion icon? Do you also aspire to fame and other self-gratifying, ego-inflating iniquities? Do you dislike the song
Thrift Shop
as much as I do? Do you think
Brand New
needs to produce another album because
Daisy
had that awful song that intentionally skipped every other beat?
More importantly, I wonder whether I’ve been the big brother that you deserve. I’m not sure you’ve figured this out yet, but you’re my favorite person in the world. You can be frustrating, maddening, and annoying, but I’ve got unconditional love for you nonetheless. I know that’s not exactly the same for you. That’s fine. I know that you treat Kimmie as if she raised you and I know that you and Dad have a bond that I will never understand. I’m sure you have friends off in college with whom you much prefer to waste your time. But that’s not the way it is for me.
In many ways that’s why I began writing these letters to you. I didn’t want you to suffer all the hardships and embarrassments that I did. I wanted you to walk cleanly through the muck and grime of early adulthood. I realize that a large part of me must be conceited. Only such a self-centered person could possibly imagine they have a valid worldview for the coming generation. I guess the road to Hell is paved with good intentions sometimes.
And while I still don’t know what’s in the cards for my future, and while I still don’t know if you’ll ever read my letters, I’m looking forward to doing dumb things and writing about them in all their goriest details. If it doesn’t teach you anything, hopefully it’ll put a smile on your face like the one I have when I write them to you.
Love you,
-Your Big Brother
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Matt McKinney is a Millennial, a middle-child, and a graduate of Duke University. He studied linguistics, Arabic, German, and film, and currently uses none of those skills. He has held jobs in the TV industry, technology, sales, marketing, and freelance whatever-ing. You name it and Matt has probably tried it. He’s probably also realized he hates doing it. So now he tries to write full-time and make a meager living off it.
He loves his younger brother and uses his blog, Boy With Cape, to constantly write him with all the (embarrassing) advice that he wished an older brother had told him. He loves his older sister too, by the way, even if he doesn’t write her often.
Matt likes Reese’s Cup and Half-Baked ice cream, the Carolina Hurricanes, and explicit fucking language. He hates cold toilet seats, terrorism, reality TV, and seafood. Someday he hopes to own a Hungarian Horntail or, at the very least, a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
He thinks that Fellini’s
8½
is the best movie ever made, with
The Godfather
and
Chinatown
close behind.
Singin’ In The Rain
is probably somewhere in the Top 10 or 15 too. His favorite movie, though, is still
Die Hard
. His second favorite movie(s) is/are
Before Sunrise
and
Before Sunset
(you honestly can’t separate one from the other). He also likes binge-watching Netflix shows,
Pushing Daisies
, and reruns of
NCIS
. He hopes to find laughter in all aspects of his life and, more importantly, he looks forward to sharing this (often self-deprecating) humor with you.