My brother and I were only in the same school once. That was back in ‘90, when I was a sixth-grader at Chaparral Elementary School in Claremont, and he was in first grade. Being six years apart made it difficult to do things together, and even as we both adapted to our new environments (I to a new school, he to school in general), we rarely saw each other except for those few occasions during the gap between our recesses.
Now, we’re once again in the same school together, only this time “school” is the metaphor for all the painful vagaries of adult life. He had his graduation ceremony last weekend, and though I tried to arrange it so that I could attend, I ended up only able to think about it from far away as my parents made the trip to watch him undoubtedly scurry from one photo to another, cloaked both in sartorial tradition and pending trepidation at what lay ahead.
I can remember so vividly the day of my own graduation; the heat, the droning commencement speech, the hypnotic insistence of capturing every possible moment on film. Six years have since passed, and while I often claim that my mantra in life is to always look forward with no regrets about the past, it’s difficult to avoid looking back during these moments, when those close to you pass through those same rites and ceremonies.
On one hand, I hope that the next six years of my brother’s life will be filled with the ease of life and careless fun that I’ve had. On the other, I want him to do better than I did in all aspects, to appreciate the richness of being young and energetic and excited. I want him to avoid the mistakes that I’ve made, even though I’ve learnt from them. I want him to love people and things the way I have, even though it will break his heart. I want him to indulge in culture and burritos, even though it will make him seem small and hurt his intestinal system. I want so much for him, even though I’m limited by the physical forces of distance and the metaphysical forces of life. I guess the most I can do is want those things, and be available, and be proud, and to invite him to Shanghai for a drink and a conversation as equals, as two students who once again are in the same school, albeith with no grades and report cards and disappointed parents. Far far away from Chaparral Elementary, school is back in session.
My kick-ass brother Andrew with mom and dad…wish I could have been there!
