My Brother, My Hero

My oldest brother is seven years my senior. He graduated from high school before my family made the move to the West coast. He "stayed behind" to start college in Maryland. He served in the military, works as a pharmaceutical executive, and votes consistently Republican. One day, I hope to be like him.

Growing up, I suffered from a crippling case of hero-worship. My brother was the coolest guy in the world. When I was 9 and he was 16, he seemed to pocess the power of any great superhero, the wisdom of the greatest thinkers, and the charm and wit of Bea Arthur. (I may have been 9, but I was a very gay 9 years old!) I would follow him like a puppy and he seemed to encougage this action -- something about having a devastatingly adorable little brother on your heels apparently makes you more attractive to women, some sort of "babe magnet" if you will.

With time, I developed as an individual and the seemingly perfect nature of my eldest brother became more suspect. It had very little to do with his own behavior, but rather than my blossoming self-identity. In college, as I became more comfortable in my skin and with sexuality, distance between hero and worshipper grew. The things I started to cherish -- drag queens, meth-fueled orgies, violent submissive sex, and a prolific sense of sarcasm and hyperbole -- seemed to put me at odds with the adulthood created by my brother, an officer in the Army, a married man and father-to-be, and an ambitious career man. My coming out process built a wall between us and the emptiness created was very difficult to sustain.

By 2002, I'd completed the "coming out" process with a much delayed outing to my oldest brother. He was the last to know. I think it hit him hard. I could only imagine. But with time, our relationship improved -- but it was much different.

We were now peers, both adults creating our own lives and our personality similarities became more striking as we moved into the same generation.

To my friends, my brother may seem like the ying to my yang. Sure, we look alike and sound alike, and maybe we even have freakishly similar personalities, but the contrasts are remarkable. He's the wealthy, successful Republican family man. And I'm the ultra-liberal, ultra-cool, bachelor uncle who travels the world and explores the oceans. I'm not wealthy. And I'm not a Republican.

While our relationship is not perfect, mostly because of his personality weaknesses and nothing to do with my own, I love and respect it. But this past weekend, I realized I still am stuck in the older-brother/little-brother hero-worship trap.

My brother, while not perfect, is pretty damn cool. He ran in the Los Angeles Marathon, finishing it despite an injury and inspiring me. I've made professional decisions that have me working in public interest and in 5 years have raised about $2 million for the organizations I've worked for, and yet I'm awed by the $3,000 he raised for the Leukemia-Lymphoma Society. I've given up countless hours, and burned gallons of gas, providing lunch for the homeless in Venice or delivering meals to chronically ill people with AIDS. I've coordinated a hundred volunteers for a service project or political outreach. But the 26.2 miles he ran last Sunday leaves me in awe. I still feel small standing next to him, but feel that much more important just knowing him. Despite now standing eye-to-eye, I remain that little man he used to call "shorty."

After the race, I was eager to carry his snacks and help him get back to the hotel, bouyed by the simple reminder of our resemblence that this man, this giant, is my older brother.