Richard the Lionhearted
One day, a long time ago, my mother told me that if I had been a boy, my name would have been Richard.
Over the years, I have built up a whole persona for Richard, my brother who never was. For Richard, simply would not be me as a boy. Oh, no!
Richard would be tall and handsome and athletic. He would also be really smart, but not in an annoying, know-it-all way that the males in my family seem to inherit. He would be gentle, sensitive, and extremely interested in literature and writing and the arts. He would play lots of sports. Well. Very well. He would be kind, strong, and dependable. He and I would be best friends. We would go to movies together. And plays. We would go hiking, cross-country skiing, and biking. He would be a tremendous uncle to my boys. They would adore him. He would be funny, witty, and make me laugh out loud. Snort even.
He would be “Richard.” He would not be “Rick” or “Dick” or even “Rich.” He would always, at least to me, be Richard. I don’t particularly like the name Richard, all of its derivatives even less. But since Richard is my brother and I adore him, the name has grown on me over the years.
He has a knack for giving gifts which are perfectly chosen. He KNOWS you well and selects things which he knows you want but might never pick for yourself.
He likes a good glass of wine. Enjoys beer. Knows his vodkas well. Does not care for scotch. Thank God!
He likes steak grilled to a medium rare. And lamb chops. He likes to cook. From scratch. And doesn’t mind cleaning up afterwards. He likes it when I cook. Sometimes we cook together, trying out new recipes.
He can sing.
He is handy around the house. He could be a plumber or an electrician in his spare time. My mother absolutely adores him. He plays golf with her two or three times a year and totally enjoys it. She usually beats him. But not because he isn’t trying.
He is knowledgeable about foreign affairs. He votes regularly. He has strong feelings politically, but does not ram them down your throat.
He is open-minded and not the least bit judgmental. He loves gossip. Secretly. You can pretty much tell him anything, and it will be safe with him.
Did I mention that he was gay?
That would mean he and my father would not have gotten along. Unfortunately. But Richard would still have been loyal. He would have been the one who would have taken my father to doctor’s appointments and bathed him when he no longer could. Richard would have been there. To the end. No matter what.
Richard calls me a few times a week. He is one of the few people I have on speed dial on my cell phone. We talk frequently. Not for long periods of time. Usually. But sometimes. We talk often.
Right now Richard and I are listening to a CD of Broadway show tunes. He thinks I am stereotypical. He says it is I who likes Broadway show tunes so much. He can just sing them. Well. Unlike his musically impaired sister.
Richard likes to tease me. But that’s OK.
He is my rock. My hero.
He is my confidante. My encourager. My supporter. He and I can do a mean foxtrot or cha cha with the best of them. We share books and recommend movies to one another. He hardly ever pisses me off.
Well, sometimes he does. But not often. And not for very long.
He knows just when you need a hug. Or a kick in the pants.
He laughs at my bad puns.
He would be mortified if he knew I was writing all this about him.
But, secretly, I think he would be pleased.
Over the years, I have built up a whole persona for Richard, my brother who never was. For Richard, simply would not be me as a boy. Oh, no!
Richard would be tall and handsome and athletic. He would also be really smart, but not in an annoying, know-it-all way that the males in my family seem to inherit. He would be gentle, sensitive, and extremely interested in literature and writing and the arts. He would play lots of sports. Well. Very well. He would be kind, strong, and dependable. He and I would be best friends. We would go to movies together. And plays. We would go hiking, cross-country skiing, and biking. He would be a tremendous uncle to my boys. They would adore him. He would be funny, witty, and make me laugh out loud. Snort even.
He would be “Richard.” He would not be “Rick” or “Dick” or even “Rich.” He would always, at least to me, be Richard. I don’t particularly like the name Richard, all of its derivatives even less. But since Richard is my brother and I adore him, the name has grown on me over the years.
He has a knack for giving gifts which are perfectly chosen. He KNOWS you well and selects things which he knows you want but might never pick for yourself.
He likes a good glass of wine. Enjoys beer. Knows his vodkas well. Does not care for scotch. Thank God!
He likes steak grilled to a medium rare. And lamb chops. He likes to cook. From scratch. And doesn’t mind cleaning up afterwards. He likes it when I cook. Sometimes we cook together, trying out new recipes.
He can sing.
He is handy around the house. He could be a plumber or an electrician in his spare time. My mother absolutely adores him. He plays golf with her two or three times a year and totally enjoys it. She usually beats him. But not because he isn’t trying.
He is knowledgeable about foreign affairs. He votes regularly. He has strong feelings politically, but does not ram them down your throat.
He is open-minded and not the least bit judgmental. He loves gossip. Secretly. You can pretty much tell him anything, and it will be safe with him.
Did I mention that he was gay?
That would mean he and my father would not have gotten along. Unfortunately. But Richard would still have been loyal. He would have been the one who would have taken my father to doctor’s appointments and bathed him when he no longer could. Richard would have been there. To the end. No matter what.
Richard calls me a few times a week. He is one of the few people I have on speed dial on my cell phone. We talk frequently. Not for long periods of time. Usually. But sometimes. We talk often.
Right now Richard and I are listening to a CD of Broadway show tunes. He thinks I am stereotypical. He says it is I who likes Broadway show tunes so much. He can just sing them. Well. Unlike his musically impaired sister.
Richard likes to tease me. But that’s OK.
He is my rock. My hero.
He is my confidante. My encourager. My supporter. He and I can do a mean foxtrot or cha cha with the best of them. We share books and recommend movies to one another. He hardly ever pisses me off.
Well, sometimes he does. But not often. And not for very long.
He knows just when you need a hug. Or a kick in the pants.
He laughs at my bad puns.
He would be mortified if he knew I was writing all this about him.
But, secretly, I think he would be pleased.
posted by delta at 12:00 PM
1 Comments:
it's a shame he's gay, as he sounds like the perfect man and I want him for myself : )
After Primo was born, I had a distinct and uneasy sensation that his feminine counterpart (he would have been Sophia if he had been a girl) was floating around in the ether somewhere, and we had to have another baby so she could be...personified, or bodyfied, or whatever the word is.
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