Today, I’m thankful for the one constant lifelong friendship I possess – my steadfast relationship with my one sibling.
One gorgeous Saturday morning in the summer of 2007, I eagerly set off to my local Dick’s Sporting Goods to purchase what every family home should possess – a basketball hoop. At that stage in my life, I already had three rambunctious boys, aged 8, 4, and 2, who clearly needed some dedicated activity that would occupy some crucial ‘time units’ outside of the confines of our precious home. Supportive of my planned transaction, my insightful wife had only one minor request as I closed the backdoor: She encouraged me, if not beseeched me, to include the professional installation in the purchase of the equipment. She fittingly reminded me how many frustrating hours I had spent in my life assembling children’s equipment, furniture, and toys from places like IKEA, Pottery Barn, and Target. As usual, my wise life partner was right. Frankly, my life had evolved to the point that I began to publicly assert to family and friends that the three dirtiest words in the English dictionary were ‘Some assembly required.’
Well, when I got to Dick’s, the store clerk somehow convinced me that the set-up was really a ‘piece of cake’, and I could easily assemble the hoop without their professional assistance. However, when I finally arrived home and disassembled the contents of the oversized box, I quickly recognized that the cunning salesperson was a pathological liar. Fortunately, with the support of my wonderful civil engineer of a neighbor, the basketball hoop, with its adjustable height feature and sturdy glass backboard, slowly materialized. By late afternoon, my children were out in the driveway playing their first game of basketball.
Nonetheless, what I quickly surmised is that every Kartsonis basketball game involving my preadolescent offspring would end the exact same way – badly. As a result of the inherent sibling rivalry among my three sons, entertaining ‘family time’ in the driveway would digress into thunderous shouting matches, crocodile tears, and the occasional all-out temper tantrum. I began to recognize precisely when the basketball game was officially over. All I needed to wait for was the backdoor to slam shut.
Slam! Game over.
I was left pondering a very concerning question: What was wrong with my boys?
Well, about five years later, I finally got the answer to my inquiry. One evening, I sat down to watch an ESPN documentary called The Book of Manning, which highlights the life of Archie Manning, the famed quarterback of the New Orleans Saints, and his family comprised of three rambunctious sons (sound familiar?). As many of you know, Archie and Olivia Manning’s trio of boys were all amazing athletes; in fact, two of them, Peyton and Eli, would become outstanding quarterbacks in the National Football League, where they would garner their share of Super Bowl Championship rings. As I watched the story unfold on the early life in the Manning household, the film broke to a segment where Olivia Manning described what it was like to witness the football games on the front lawn of their New Orleans home. With a tremendous amount of brutal honesty and courageous candor, Olivia recalled that every one of the family football games, at least to her recollection, deteriorated into a boisterous tantrum, filled with a waterfall of tears.
It was at that singular moment that I had an awe-inspiring epiphany: My family of three sons was not abnormal after all (well, at least, not entirely abnormal). My boys were simply exhibiting a typical form of tenacious sibling rivalry. Indeed, our sibling relationships, even the occasional fights, play a crucial role in molding us into healthy adults. Academic research by scholars in the field of human development confirms one important theme: the relationships we have with our siblings have long-lasting effects throughout our lives.
Fortunately, I was born into a family where I was not the only child. My one older brother, three years my elder, played a crucial role in shaping who I have become. Not only was he my first official playmate, but he was also my stiffest rival on the basketball court. Despite our competitive relationship, I owe it to him for having taught me several key lessons in life.
Like how to throw a curve using a Wiffle ball.
Like how to break in a game of pool without sinking the cue ball.
Like how to delicately grip a football to allow for a perfect spiral throw.
But beyond sports, my brother served as my tutor when I did not fully understand how to complete a difficult mathematical problem set. He was my psychiatrist whenever I found myself at odds with my parents. He was even my ‘bookie’ whenever I needed a ticket to an upcoming Florida Gators football game.
Of course, as remuneration for his professional services, I had to put up with some incessant teasing, deliberate mocking, and aggressive roughhousing. But, I survived (with just a few scratches), and today I’m clearly a more functioning member of society because of him. So, on this day (Nov 2) that my older brother Phil celebrates his 55th birthday, I just wanted to take a moment and express my gratitude for all he has done for me. I am eternally grateful for his advice, support, and friendship. Happy birthday, bro!
My hope is that, some day, my three sons will realize that the second most profound gift their parents gave them was a childhood filled with siblings. The first gift was, without a doubt, the basketball hoop in the driveway.
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