At the end of the summer of 2012, which felt unmercifully short owing to the impending start of my college career, I lay on the roof of my parent’s garage, gazing up into the night sky which was twinkling with heaven’s light. My younger brother, Connor, lay beside me. The asphalt shingles were still warm from their day baking under the summer sun. It was pleasant to feel the heat upon our backs as a cool breeze blew through the pine trees.
We lay in silence for a long time. Then, seemingly out of nowhere my brother asked: “So … do you wanna talk about life?”
The seriousness of his tone surprised me. Connor had always been the family jokester. No one can come close to the sharpness or speed of his wit. Comedy was his way to garner attention as the youngest of three siblings. At the tender age of 6, in response to our sister, Kate’s, favorite song at the time, “Bleeding Love”, Connor yelled from his booster seat: “This song makes NO SENSE! How can you BLEED love?!”
He and Kate then proceeded to have a furious debate that would have verged on the profound if it hadn’t been so funny.
However, it was also because of Connor’s humor that I had never had a truly serious conversation with him. Part of this also had to do with the fact that there was an 8-year age gap between us. That summer, I was 18 and about to head off to college. Connor was 10 and about to start 5th grade. I’d been busy working and spending time with my friends, and as such hadn’t really spent much time with my family. Connor also doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve.
But as we lay on that roof talking about life, an aspect of our relationship changed. While I cannot remember what exactly we said to each other, I felt, in that moment, that I was truly his older brother. We were trusting each other, for what seemed like the first time, with what was going on in our minds and hearts. We were brothers, laying on the roof, warm shingles on our backs, the summer breeze cooling our faces, and our eyes fixed on the brilliant sky above.
This past Sunday, 19 May, 2024, Connor crossed the stage at the Ryan Center, and graduated from The University of Rhode Island. We - myself, Dad, Mom, Kate, and her girlfriend, Sarah - watched from the stands and cheered as loud as we could when his name was called and he strolled across the stage and gave a subtle, albeit triumphant, wave to the crowd.
As Connor made his way back to his seat below, I heard Mom whispering to Dad: “That’s 12 straight years of college tuition done!”
Dad replied: “Yeah! Where’s our graduation!?”
I smiled, because my parents were graduating too. As much as this moment was enormous for Connor, whose high school graduation had been utterly ruined by COVID, his college commencement marked the end of an era for my parents. All three of their children had graduated college. One had gone off to have a family of his own and pursue a career as a writer, while another used her considerable talents and intellect to get into medical school. Now their baby was off to begin a life of his own.
For 25 years, starting with my kindergarten class in 1999, my parents had seen us through every moment of our formal education. That quarter century felt like forever while I was living it. Looking back, it feels like I blinked in kindergarten and suddenly was a dad of soon to be four children. I can only imagine how this graduating moment must’ve felt like for my parents.
After the ceremony, I was riding alone with Connor to a restaurant in neighboring Newport where we would have lunch. I was glad to be with him, having not once been able to come and visit him while he was in school. Maybe we’d have another life moment like we’d had on the garage roof all those years ago.
As we crossed the Newport Bridge, my brother turned to me and said: “So what’s the deal with Tom Bombadil? Is he like a God?!”
I laughed. The two of us had been reading “The Lord of the Rings” in tandem. A long-time Tolkien fan, I filled in some of the gaps Peter Jackson’s movies had left out. Having read and thoroughly enjoyed “The Hobbit” the previous year, Connor had informed me of his desire to read the trilogy. I decided to join him, gifting him my old set for his birthday this past February.
As we debated Bombadil’s necessity to the story, I realized that Connor and I didn’t need to have some deep discussion to connect with each another. All we needed was to be there for each other. I think, in his own way, he was telling me that the was glad I was there with him, without being mushy about it. You know how it is with brothers.
