In my family I’m the peacekeeper — the perceptive one, the one who remembers things people have forgotten. Basically, I get things first. So I was a little taken aback when my older brother — older by just 14 months, mind you — was completely nonchalant when I brought up my realization that I was friends with our parents. “I think I’m friends with mom and dad,” I said. “Yeah,” he replied, pausing just long enough to let the I’m older and wiser than you settle in. “Guess what else,” he says. “They’re people too.” My brother, J, is the observant one. He sees things before most people and waits and waits to tell you about it until it’s the right time for you to know it.
Truth is, I’ve been friends with my mom from the very beginning. We’ve always had too much in common (flaws included) to not be friends. But my relationship with my father — always excellent, and a bit traditional — finally found its footing thanks to an onion.
