The Vernacular Curate, me what is writing this here, has a brother and a sister (plus two other half-sisters who he has never met, one of whom he has had a small amount of contact with). This is the first time that I have made this bold claim - but it is true. I have me some siblings, and yes, that means that there are two other people walking around this Rock who are as darned good looking as me!
I was reading another blog earlier on a largely unrelated matter, but which caused me to think about how I am as a sibling to others.
Pants, in truth.
I love my brother and sister without question, and they are noble good people in their own rights. They both have reasonably settled lives, wonderful families of their own, are good to spend time with - except that I don't. We don't. We just don't. I think it might be a 'boy' thing, because the fragrant Mrs Acular is on the blower to her sister fairly frequently; and to her mum - often. As I have reported here before, I hardly ever deign to speak to the woman whose womb I squatted in for some small period of time in the Seventies, and neither do I manage it with its successive tenants.
This is a post about family life as an adult, I think. For years, I agonised over the way me, my bruv and sister never talked - agonies that evapourated within moments when we were in the same room together. In those moments, all was normal, all was safe and strong, and we were as we always had been. As I begin to get older and as the greys begin to take over the browns on my noggin, I find myself more relaxed about this whole thing. I often ponder on their well-being, wonder how they are and what they are doing. I care very much about how they are doing, I always did and always will - but something in the hardwiring causes me to not test this. This means I can go almost a whole year without clapping eyes on either of them, and months without picking up the phone.
It would be easy to judge this poorly - and let's face it, I have for years. Perhaps I am guilty of taking them for granted, and them me, I don't know. I think, though, that if any of us picked up the phone in a time of crisis, we would all descend in a matter of a few hours from wherever we were. It is also odd as I raise a pair of siblings of my own 'creation', in whom I am keen to in-build loyalty and dedication to the noble estate that is 'family'. Does that make me hypocrite I wonder?
This post is mostly a rumination, not a solved problem or a resolved issue. I am happy to live and let live, on the basis that in need, we would call and we would respond. Circumstances mean that we can be in the same town at the same time every once in a while - but none of us creates those moments. We may just have reached a point of perfect balance for us all, I don't know.
I'd be interested to hear about other accounts of life with adult siblings. Perhaps I am a lousy brother, perhaps not - but in any instance, I'd love to hear.
And to Mick and Dan, who do read this from time to time - lots of love from your big bruv.