Oh, Those Are the Feronys?

            I am in love with my mother. You know Freud with his Oedipus complex nonsense? Well, he got it at least in my case. My mother is the most beautiful, kindhearted woman on this planet (which is a bold thing to say especially in this class). However, despite my undying love for my mother and my father’s relentless push for me to succeed, providing help whenever necessary, the people I am most excited to see when I go home are my three younger brothers.

            I have told people in my life before that, for whatever reason, the thing I look forward to most when it comes to marriage planning is picking my groomsmen. My lineup when it comes time will be that of the New York Yankees in the 1920s, including Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. Matt is my Lou Gehrig, my rock that I can count on whenever I need a friend and he will be my best man. Adam is my Babe Ruth. He is a powerful force to be reckoned with and will put one to the fences if you just ask him nicely. He will be my second-in-command. Jason is my faithful first baseman. His job isn’t the hardest, but it is absolutely necessary. He will put all his effort into any job you give him, and he’ll do it with passion because he’s always wanted to please his older brothers. He will be my third. There are other great men in my life who I am excited to notify of the honor of being part of this army of tried and true men, but none compare when facing the Ferony boys.

            David Sedaris wrote about his brother who referred to himself as The Rooster. His brother is perfectly eccentric and loving, exactly the way you’d want a sit-com character to be. My brothers are collectively The Rooster. Matt is my best friend. He’s twenty months younger than me so, in my opinion, there wasn’t enough time for sibling rivalry to set in. At that time, I was still trying to grasp the idea that I could pick up practically anything with my thumb and forefingers, never noticing the person who had begun living with us. Adam was different. Adam is more like that scar a lot of people have right next to their eye. They hated it when they were younger, but it’s been around for so long that you’ve grown to love it. He messed up the awesome two peas in a pod dynamic that Matt and I had going for almost four years then, so it took a while for us to account for his presence. Adam and I are movie fanatics and he is perhaps the most excited when I return from college (giving Kelly, the doggo, a run for her money). Jason is the youngest and he was more of a surprise than anything else. He is eight years younger than me so, while my mom was pregnant, I got to take part in the naming conversations. At this point, I think my parents were running out of ideas. They hadn’t picked a name until they brought Jason home from the hospital. I still don’t love the name, but I love him, so everything worked out. I also began to call him simply “J” and my family followed suit.

            To everyone on the outside, we are the troublemaking boys that must be making our poor mother’s life a living hell. We do. But I think she thought we were so cute when were young that she couldn’t get rid of us opting for our far less rambunctious female counterparts. I am almost twenty-one years old and I will never say that I hate any of my siblings (which is a good thing). One thing I do hate is the way sibling relationships are portrayed in the media. Siblings always hate each other. If siblings are expected to hate each other, then, of course, they are going to learn to hate each other. I am very excited to see my brothers again over the course of the spring break. I miss them, almost as much as I’ll miss you my girls in HNRS 389.