Brotherly love

What is it about seeing our siblings hurt that tickles our funny bone so? When I retell the story I break out into full belly laughter. I can't help it. I'm giggling now as I write this.

My brother had (or has) a ganglion on his wrist. A bump the size of a golf ball filled with fluid until it's hard. To the old folks it would be better known as a bible bump. Reasoning behind the name is that to get rid of it you need to hit it as hard as you can with the biggest book in the house. In the old days that would be the bible. Mart used to have one, until he hit it has hard as he could against the leg of the desk. It's never come back since.

Being the concerned sister that I am, I thought we should get rid of this irritant, and who better to help my dear old brother than me. Owen's hard cover children's bible was the perfect tool for the job. He sat on the edge of the bed with his arm on his knee while I lined up and took a few practice swings for aim. Maybe he didn't think that I would do it. Maybe I didn't think I could really purposely hit someone as hard as I could. But what do you know, it was easy. I swung as hard as I could, and hit him as hard as I could, without hesitation. Too bad I missed the bump and hit his hand instead. That's the risk you take when you get your sister to act as a doctor I guess. In my defence he did give me permission. All I could do after was wipe away tears of laughter. My broken words of sorry, offered through my hysterics were little comfort. But it was funny as hell. I'd never before got to hit my brother that hard without getting pummeled afterwards. I probably won't get the chance again. It was a sweet victory for a little sister.

While visiting this side of the country, which only happens once per year since he lives a whole continent away, we fell into our old rhythm. It was good to have him home. To hang out again. It was even better to laugh my fool head off at his expense. There is no love like that for a brother.