he rows of hour daze.

This is my brother. With his chick. We've had some good times together, but it seems like the best times are happening right now while we are thousands of miles separated. He has always been an inspiration to me because of his phlegmatic inner strength. He is cool, but passionate. Strong, but soft-hearted. He has a will and stubborness of iron, but will bend and break for something he wants. He can even grow a beard. He runs fast, even when his joints hurt. He swims as fast, or faster, than me without training. He climbs, jumps, scrambles, bikes, runs, sprints, laughs, travels, experiences, tells stories, eats, and certainly drinks, all with a gusto and heartiness and more robustly than I could ever achieve. He is humble enough to smile in my face when he wins in a way that can only leave me smiling and wishing I could be more like him as well. I can read faster than him, though. But unfortunately that doesn't mean I understand faster than him. His hands work wonders with things that he gets them on. Even if they are grandpa's hands, those grubby short little muscular hands that leave little traces of moisture on mine when we grasp hands during prayer or wrestle. His understanding of mechanics and of physics and nature is astounding. His retainment of the seemingly insignificant things proves how significant they can be. He works hard when he wants to and doesn't mind dreaming the day away. I think his dreams are probably more beautiful than words could describe, but they usually stay on his wall next to his pillow. That's my brother and I'm proud of him. I know that he will help me when I need him and that I will be there for him, as well. We are brothers and I'm so glad that it turned out that way. Someday, it will come in more handy than I know, I think.