All my life, I've walked in a shadow. In the past few years, the shadow has grown larger. In fact, it's reached mammoth proportions. This shadow is my brother, an offensive tackle '98 at Yale who weighs in at a hefty 280 pounds with a 6'5" frame. Needless to say, the shadow is huge. But I've learned to step out of its way, coming to terms with my own successes and accomplishments.
It all began for me the day his best friend asked me, in my freshman year in high school, how my grades were doing. "Okay," I said, "but not as good as Mike's." She smiled at me and said, "Amy, nobody's grades are as good as Mike's." Suddenly, the standards that I had struggled to achieve were shattered. I've always thought Michael should marry that girl.
A bittersweet gift, older brothers can be comforting, nurturing, frustrating, and infuriating. YM Magazine says that having an older brother gives a girl confidence.
I know confidence. It's what I felt junior year when my brother announced, with his characteristic Yalie sneer, that he was willing to bet an item of choice from the J. Crew catalog that I would never (could never possibly) beat him on the SAT's.
Confidence is when you kick your brother's ass by fifty points. As of yet, he has not paid up, but I'll allow it, considering his pride may not survive another such blow. I like to think, however, that I didn't need the hard numbers to prove my prowess in his academic world, the one that had until that point been closed to me.
I had always questioned my abilities, the product of living with such an exceptional student, someone who always seemed to pull off success under any circumstances. His skills are more tangible: he excels in the sciences, where I find my fascination with words. He's pre-med, of course, this mental giant who becomes queasy at the sight of blood but hopes to make his living as a surgeon.
He'll do it, I have no question, but he'll have some obstacles to overcome. "People bleed, Mike, when you cut them open," I like to say, without a sneer. He has a remarkable work ethic and an uncanny ability to retain information, however useless (fierce Jeopardy wars have been waged in the DiLuna house, our Italian blood boiling as we reach a frenzied pitch, busting out with answers that are worth a dollar each). I respect my brother tremendously. But it has taken me a while to respect myself as much.
Having spent my life emulating someone who is so consistently successful, I have found it difficult to ground myself in the reality that I, too, can have goals and ambitions. I won't ever experience the rush of saving a life, or the anguish of losing one at my own hands. But being in this environment, where intellect and individuality are encouraged, I have learned to find those things in myself.
And having made it here on my own, on my own terms, I can breathe easy, comfortable in the knowledge that I have already worked my way out from under the shadow. It will revisit occasionally, poking me, prodding me to do something great, something impressive not only to me, but maybe even to him. There is wisdom in YM. Having an older brother has made me tough, given me a thick shell. Already I've achieved so many of my goals, and this assures me that I will one day accomplish something of merit, shadow or no shadow. How big could it be, after all? He never did get into Dartmouth.
