The Problem With Pedestals

Pedestals are a great invention. They give height to statues of people who have died by heoric means, provide a base to washing machines, and can even be used in the study of linguistics when diagraming sentences. They should, however, never be used to hold people to standards to which they can never feasibly reach, living or deceased. I say this because, I believe that certain people in my life have been placed on pedestals, in which I have set the bar of my expectations so high, that they could not possibly reach them with a space shuttle, let alone a measley granite foundation.

My brother is one of these people. I have loved him with every inch of my heart for the past 11,934 days. He was always my hero. He is not perfect, and I understand that, but he was the only brother I ever had, and because of that, to me, he was perfect. If you listen to me talk about my brother, you will hear two types of stories, both describing the epitome of an older brother. The first include stories involving me chasing "our" golden retriever through "our" elementary school, or evoking my fear in the IRS at the ripe old age of 10. These stories bring to mind teasing, or joking at a younger siblings expesne. But there are also the stories of protection. Protecting me from the cold hard truth (LITERALLY) of my Honey Bunny's untimely demise, or riding the elementary school bus, when you are a MIDDLE SCHOOLER, just to handle a minor situation with a pair of second grade boys who were teasing your pain in the ass younger sister. (I never did see those boys on the bus again).

Whether he was teasing or protecting, he was my older brother, and he could walk on water (as long as it was frozen and he had his skates on!) It didn't matter that we spent more of our lives apart, then we did together. It didn't matter that we grew up in the same family, with two distinctively different situations. It didn't matter that we shared some of the toughest times kids ever had to share. He was my brother, and that alone was enough to grant him that slab of granite that even his Marine training would not allow him to repel from safely.

It took me 11,934 days to realize that he does not belong on a pedestal. Not because he is not amazing, becuase he is. Not becuase he is one of the smartest people I know, because he is. He doesn't belong there because it is not safe for him to be there. It is not fair. He did not ask to be pedestalized. He didn't even ask to be my brother, and I often wonder if he wishes he wasn't. Life would have been much easier for him without me... but not nearly as interesting!