Joe At 30

I can’t call him on the phone to wish him a happy birthday, nor will he recognize the Ohio State logo on the shirts bought for his birthday.

Fate gave me a different path with my brother, but sometimes I long for those simple moments that most siblings take for granted.

His school-age pictures have danced in my thoughts this week. Joe always displays a wry, intelligent smile, even in those school pictures. He looked like any kid in those shots, no more different than someone struck shy by the camera.

He turned 30 on Monday. At times, he seems ageless, his grin and laughter unchanged since we last shared a bedroom in Dublin, Georgia.

But the last time I saw him, the Melville grays had begun their assault on his rough thicket of Italian hair, cut in the fashion created by impatient, old-style barbers.

Over the past decade he thickened due to poor diet and the daily lineup of drugs. His love for the records from our childhood (The Muppets, Sesame Street, Disney, Burl Ives, and the Fraggles – all classics) has not wavered.

An army of bears holds vigil in his arm, led by an aged, dirty koala that plays Waltzing Matilda. This is the third generation of musical marsupial Joe has worn down.

Don’t take this as regret; I have accepted I cannot change Joe, and cherish him for offering what most brothers cannot.

But the sad part about being burdened with a crisp memory is the misfortune to remember simpler times.

For most of my youth, I held onto hope that Joe would develop. I saw progress at certain tasks like feeding himself and heard noises that threatened to turn into words.

He gave us myriad actions which prevented people from writing him off as handicapped, retarded or the most condescending of all, “special” (none of those words appeared in the Melville house).

But eventually, all hope dwindled away. While schools for the disabled are filled with selfless, talented teachers, each of these children is too unique and it’s difficult to advance the functions of one as severely handicapped as Joe (Now I use this word freely).

Joe also became further cloistered in my parents’ house. The grim realization that I’d have to care for him once my parents died dawned heavily upon me.

But for now, Joe is 30, laughing and still ageless.

Worries about his future can sit for a few more tomorrows.