So here it is again: 804-464-7241
Google voice, ya’ll. I’m pretty sure it goes right to voicemail. That is - if I set it up right. I don’t know.
Only one way to find out, I guess.
I should probably mention that my brother and I don’t exactly speak very often. In fact, he hates me. Well, I don’t know if he hates me. He told me about 15 years ago that he hates me - and he really meant it - so maybe he still hates me today. I don’t know. I tortured him when we were growing up. I tortured all my siblings, actually. But he was always a little more sensitive and holds a grudge. I made him eat leaves and called him Marcus Leenis Weenis Penis.
He called me when he found out about the wife and the cancer. It was an awkward 20 second conversation. But otherwise, there really isn’t much talking between us.
Obviously, I’ve grown up a lot since the days of convincing him I was an alien who was only on earth to study - then kill - our family. But I think he still sees me as the mean older brother.
Saturday, July 24th, 2010 -
I had to give a toast at the party for my brother’s family. I thought up a few key points that I wanted to mention. I had it all sorted out in my head. There were going to be subtle jokes and heartfelt moments. The whole shebang should’ve lasted a minute or two.
I wasn’t nervous or anything - I’m the ham of the family, so speaking in front of people isn’t really a big deal. And believe me, my entire extended family has video proof of me acting like an idiot in front of the family spotlight on more than one occasion throughout my life.
So I stand up and raise my champagne and loudly announce, “EXCUSE ME, EVERYONE! I JUST WANT TO MAKE A QUICK TOAST TO MARK AND YUMIKO…”
Everyone quiets down. I look at my brother, his new wife and his new son. Then I begin to speak the toast that I so eloquently constructed in my brain.
I got out the “We’re here to celebrate,” when I felt my throat clench up a little bit. My voice cracked and my eyes got blurry.
What. The. Hell?
I paused. Then started again.
“You know, in life there are surprises…” I heard my voice go higher on “surprises.” And I couldn’t see anything because my eyes were really blurry.
I’m about to cry.
A little bit.
I pushed out another sentence that basically said something welcoming my brother’s wife to the family. I may have blurted out a “congratulations,” too.
Then I threw back the champagne like a horny 19 year old college girl shoots Jager and quickly walked away.
I’m very embarrassed about this. Not so much because I cried… well, yeah, that’s pretty embarrassing. But because I was supposed to give an honest-to-goodness toast and I couldn’t deliver. What if this happens to me every time I try to speak in front of family? What if I can’t ever give a eulogy? I mean, funerals are pretty emotional, right? And I’m the oldest son, so I’m going to have to give a eulogy or two someday.
Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten drunk beforehand. Maybe I need to take some Cowboy-Up pills. Maybe I just get melodramatic when it comes to family. I cried my face off at my wedding. Correction: I cried my face of at THE WEDDING REHEARSAL.
Give me a shot of testosterone and let me re-do the toast. I’ll keep it together this time, I swear.
How come no one wants to see my boobs?