American Boys

    Look at this guy. So strong, he can't be beaten. So tough, he eats nails for breakfast. So smart, there's nothing he can't figure out. His favorite foods are cheeseburgers and apple pie, his favorite books are about boy adventurers, and his greatest role model is his dad. Andrew Jackson is an American Boy.

    It's humbling to realize that one's younger brother is by far an awesomer person than oneself. Since I meet with such realizations often, however, I am used to them and can write about the people around me with admiration rather than envy.

    This kid is a full-grown man in a skinny 12-year-old's body. He studies every manly thing under the sun, and I have a growing certainty that he'll do America proud one day, whether as an engineer, an inventor, a diplomat, a ship captain or a pilot, or anything else you can think of that involves cleverness, technology, "cool jackets", as he puts it, or knowing smiles.

    Cool jackets are another thing. In spite of his rugged adventurer bent, he has an incredible eye for coolness. He notices absolutely everything. When we watch war movies and I'm occupied with how handsome the soldiers look in their uniforms, he's noting that "they're using flintlock pistols, which weren't invented in that time period". This is not the only important detail, however, as he announces to a resigned audience later on. He "would really like a pair of boots like General Such and Such was wearing during the seventh battle of part three". He is determined to look sharp, and historical styles are a source of never-ending fascination for him.

    As far as I know, he is the only twelve-year-old American Boy who personally irons his pants.

 

    Here is another American Boy brother. This one is older than me. His name in my foolish imagination is Ben Franklin, and since he won't let me take a picture of him I must instead give you a picture of a knight. My reasons are: a) I'm pretty sure this is how Ben pictures himself in his head; and b) it looks way cool.

    How does one describe Ben Franklin? As a prodigy, perhaps. He knows anything and everything about military history one would care to ask. He has books everywhere: double-shelved in his bookcase, plus stuffed every-which way on top of the rows; in numerous stacks under his bed; stashed away inside his bedside table, so that one cannot open one of the little doors in it without being buried in a literary avalanche; in little piles on his bedroom carpet; stacked on his desk, stacked abundantly on the shelf above his desk, in magnificent sweeping plateaus along his extra makeshift bookshelf, and of course peppering the rest of the household. One can reasonably expect to find at least a few of his volumes in every room.
    The boy has always had a slightly disarranging effect on books. He must have some kind of static charge radiating around his person. Wherever he goes, books seem to follow, apparently irresistibly attracted to him. After he leaves, book stacks teeter, rows of books on shelves are crooked, and fantasy novels and heavy military histories are inexplicably sprinkled around. I don't know how he does it, but I guess it's kind of charming. That is, unless I'm the one elected to restore sanity to the living room tables.
    *Sigh*
    These are only the books he owns, mind. He also seems to have read the entire library.

    There are many other things to be said about him. How he is a vending machine for jokes, for example. Except that there's no charge, and his supply never ends. (At times I rather regret this. Sometimes I'd so much rather he give away bags of cheese puffs.) I have never known anyone so determined to believe themselves the Supreme High King Ruler Emperor Guy of Jokes, however, and for that one must give him credit.

    He has many talents: he possesses an amazing memory; he reads unbelievably quickly, but retains all; he writes highly imaginative, original, and above all cool fiction (mainly sci-fi and fantasy stories); he makes friends with everybody. He believes this is because of his rakish charm. I think it's because he likes everybody; people respond to that kind of openness.

    Soon enough my buddy the American Boy will be off to college, and then I wonder what'll become of us all. Son, brother, scholar, leader, jokester, and friend, he is precious to the entire family. But maybe I shouldn't be moping about that. It is, after all, his business what he does with his life. While he's off enjoying his awesome exciting life and . . . uh, black coffee and stacks of mustard-stained essays . . . hm. Well, anyway, I'll be here, living it up sitting around and writing teary blog posts!

    I may even miss his jokes. Anything's possible.

    Love you, Ben.