When people ask about my family of origin, I always explain that I am the youngest of six.
We are five girls and one boy. (Technically, it's nowhere near accurate to call any of us "girls and boy" anymore, but that's not important right now.)
My point (and I do have one) is that when I give that tidbit of family history, "five girls and one boy," most people's response has always been, "Poor guy!"
Let me just get the facts straight for you…
Being a lone male in a predominantly female household – of Cuban women! – this means his life was cake!
It was our responsibility to take care of his needs, cook, iron shirts, make beds, clean up after him.
In fact, to wake him up in the morning, we had to have the café con leche prepared and kind of dangle it before his nose to get him from zero to coherent. (This was such a fun game. You'd hold the cup just a few inches from his face and we'd bet on how long before he responded…there was money to be made!)
So it was because of my brother, Rudy that I learned how to serve.
He was worth it too. Taking us for Pancakes at Midnight or a late show in Hollywood. My friends that had older brothers never did the stuff Rudy would take us to do. And it was fabulous stuff. Of course, he tormented us just as often, but you tend to forget some things and they fade to the back of your mind in remembering the sweetness.
So now in retrospect, I'm a little confused. Who had the sweeter deal?
a) The young man who's every need we were groomed to anticipate and care for?
b) Or the young women who got to experience the most fun memories of their young lives?
Gotta go with b) on this one. It is my brother's presence in my life that enriched it beyond what I could have imagined.
Always fun. Always spontaneous. Responsible with just the right touch of adventure.
I feel quite lucky to call Rudy my big brother. So, happy birthday, Rudy! I love you. I wish you only the very best for your life.
(By the way, if you ever call me Bomba the Jungle Boy again…..you die.) =D