BROTHERS
“We impart what we know. I’m raising my son to be a feminist because he will be a better person for it. Instilling the value of gender equality from birth means that he will support his sister, his friends, and his daughters, should he ever have them. It means he will never be threatened by strong women; rather he will be emboldened to be a better him when challenged by an equal of the opposite sex.”
Hadley, here are some pictures from this past Christmas. Your brother. And my brother. And your brother and your sister and my mom. And your brother and my brother together. And my brother and your sister. People made of the same and different stuff, you know?
Dear Hadley,
Eight years ago, on a day much sunnier than this one, I woke up to a text from your grandma: “Sarah’s in labor. He’s coming.”
I bolted out of bed, threw on clothes, and went straight to the airport. I got on the first flight home and made it back just in time to meet the most remarkable dark-haired boy I’d ever seen.
You probably know by now that your brother was a very unexpected surprise. The most wonderful, life-changing, family-changing surprise I have ever known. He’s a gift to all of us. A gift to you and your sister, too.
Just like Aiden, my dark-haired older brother (your Uncle Nick) was the first boy I ever knew. He lived across the hall from me for the first sixteen years of my life.
Truthfully, for most of those years, we didn’t get along very well. We were, in most ways, opposites, with few points of overlap.
Because I spent most of my youth wearing boys clothes and having a boys haircut, strangers often thought your uncle Nick and I were brothers. But even as brothers, our commonalities didn’t align. He had plenty of soccer gear but was without any good NBA jerseys. I didn’t wear his hand-me-downs because I liked my clothes baggier and button-free. I did a middle part, he did his on the side.
Nothing bothered Nick. Everything bothered me.
So we grew up doing different things different ways. And we grew apart.
Then, four years ago, in our late twenties, something magical happened.
Nick and I planned a trip to Mexico at the same time. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year. And for years before that, only for brief blips of time during the holidays. We didn’t talk on the phone. We weren’t in the habit of keeping in touch.
Nick walked through the door of our villa and for the very first time, instead of seeing the brother I had always felt so separate from, I saw myself.
I noticed his hands were shaped like mine. His shoulders and calves and feet — like mine too. Our eyes matched. Our cheekbones matched. (His nose has a nicer, super-straight viking-like slope, and my hair has always been about twenty shades lighter than his, but still, structurally, pretty same).
It turned out we were reading the same books. Eating the same specific foods. Interested in the same strange things.
We spent that week together — drinking coffee, collecting sun, running on the beach. He was fast and light. Naturally athletic. Curious. Questioning. Whatever was in his blood, I recognized that I had some of the same. I was glad.
Your uncle Nick is kind, through and through. He’s smart and considerate and a little taller than me. But he never fit the protective older brother mold. He didn't throw the football less hard on my behalf. He didn’t slow his pace. He knew I could keep up, knew I could hold my own. He didn't tell me who I should or shouldn't date. He never tried to fight my battles for me. He recognized I was capable of doing things for myself — and he cheered me on as I did them.
It's already clear that your brother is the same.
You two look alike — definitely more than either of you look like Emerson right now. But your personalities could not be more distinct.
Aiden is methodical, analytical, a problem solver. You are driven by how things feel, you make your own rules. I wonder what your dynamic with him is going to look like as you get older. Probably, hopefully: it will change and grow and change and grow. Nonstop evolution.
Whatever path your relationship takes, however close or far apart you find yourselves later in life, know this (which I can tell you for certain because I know it in the most embodied way):
Your brother respects you. Not because it’s an obligation or an expectation. Not even because you share a widows peak (you can thank your dad for that). He respects you because you are you. Because you are strong and you are sure and you are your own wild and true self.
The reason he treats you as his equal is because he knows that you are. There is no question. He’s supportive. He doesn’t undermine your decisions — which, even now, are so often very different from his. He listens when you speak. He’s proud to be by your side — not because you're pretty, not because you validate him, but because you are smart and interesting and one-of-a-wonderful-kind.
And because of this, you won't wonder — not even for a second, not even when someone says or does something suggesting otherwise — whether you are as good as the boys. You won't wonder whether it’s appropriate to lead. You won't wonder whether you have the power or capacity to chart your own path. You won't question whether it's okay speak up, to use your voice to right a wrong, to stand up for yourself.
And you will never have to look around for external examples of how men should treat women. You will just know. Because you were born with an innate understanding of the basic truths of equality. And because the boy who grew up in the bedroom next to yours continually reinforced them.
You are loved and respected and supported by so many.
Aunt Liz
Here's a kind of blurry picture of your Uncle Nick and me in Mexico. On that trip when we realized that we actually liked each other. And when I realized that, "holy shit, we look a lot alike." We do, don't we? DNA is real.
