Brother Bob

Mom always told us to quit hammering on each other.

He played hockey on the frozen ponds around our farm and I practiced my three turns and jumps on my figure skates, dodging his pucks.

He drove his dirt bike out our lane to catch the bus. He offered me a ride once. I still have the scar on my leg and I can still hear him giggle as he drove away, watching me clean the gravel out of my leg.

I called him Robterd.

I always have been a faster runner than he is but I could never catch him because he never ran in a straight line. He'd swerve and curve, giggling all the way, laughing at how angry I was at him.

He was a pain.

I was older and therefore had the right to boss him around.

He's my baby brother by 14 months.

He's going bald.

He's going to be a daddy for the first time this summer.

My hair is getting thicker and more luscious as I age.

I was always told I look like my brother. I never knew what to say to that. Thanks?

I have less facial hair.

He has a bigger gut than I do.

He once squatted over my face while I was lying on the couch and passed gas.

He also enjoyed pinning me down on the floor and letting his drool dangle down over my face until it would eventually let loose and splash on my face.

He told some boys on the playground of a campground to stop teasing me because I was his sister.

It's been about six years since I've seen him.

He lives in Prince Edward Island and works out of a base camp in Northern Alberta. He drives truck into the Yukon, the Northwest territories, and other northern  Canadian places.

His birthday is Wednesday.

I love him.

Happy birthday Robterd.

I miss you.

Here are some pictures from the Yukon and beyond that he has sent me this past year.

I think he should guest post here and share more of his pictures and his adventures. Don't you?

I'm a better writer.

Happy Birthday Rob!