my brother's keeper

Fifty-eight years ago, I greeted my younger brother's first entry into our family home by throwing a toy truck at him -- breaking my mother's glasses in the process.


Or so the family legend goes.


I was two -- and not subject to moral culpability.


But it was not an auspicious beginning. As I think back on our lives growing up separately in the same family, there are only a few times where we spent much time together.


We did not have family vacations.


We had different school interests.


We had different tribal friends.


Our lives intersected only rarely.


Our relationship started changing when our father died in 1996. We spent more time together learning more about the other's life.


And, as you all know, our relationship took another major shift when I decided to drive to Mexico.


I had every intention of making the drive alone. My brother, who has experience as a professional driver, knew that I had no idea what I was planning on doing.


To save me from myself, he volunteered to take off a month from his business to accompany me to Mexico.


I have looked back on the past month of posts and realize that the success of this trip (to this point) was greatly due to my brother's sacrifice and support.


Not everything turned out as anticipated, and we did not agree on everything. (The smallest decision easily turned into a major competition.) But we had the best time we have ever had together.


In one post, I referred to Darrel as my best friend. He really is.


That is why Thursday was another big step in my Mexico move. After taking a closer look at Barra de Navidad and Melaque, we drove to the Manzanillo Airport where he boarded an Alaska flight to Portland.


I am going to miss having him here. Not only for his company, but for the sheer joy of having him share this experience.


That ancient tossed toy truck was, in the words of White House spin masters, "a youthful indiscretion."


Because he is my brother, my friend.