A Tribute to Pie

When I was a kid, we moved around a lot. Always in the same general area, but always far enough away that I ended up at four or five different elementary schools. That made it virtually impossible to really stay friends with anyone for very long.

Enter my big brother.

Makani (hereafter known as Pie, for reasons that take too long to explain) was an excellent friend, with the bonus that I could always take with me when we moved. He’s almost four years older than me, and you’d think that would be too great a gulf for children our age, especially since we are the opposite sex. But it somehow wasn’t.

Pie was the best kind of brother and friend. He occasionally let me play when he and his friends were doing D&D, but even when I wasn’t invited, he was still kind when I intruded. When it was just us, he would pretend to be a monster (level 1–10, depending on the challenge I wanted) and chase me around the house until I defeated him. Another time he set up a silly restaurant for me and my friends, menu and all. The grated cheese with cinnamon and sugar on top was the best. Yum.

I remember as we walked to school together one year, I would called him shrimp (he was on the short end), and he would pretend to hide from the cars we passed, afraid that they would want to eat him.

As we grew older, he was my idol. He competed in MathCounts, and I followed in his footsteps (I loved math on my own, but I know his example contributed to it). I knew that he was in debate in high school, so I wanted to debate too. It’s funny—because of a mix up, he had a trophy for Lincoln-Douglas debate, even though he actually did policy. But my brain latched onto L-D, so that’s what I did, thinking I was following in his footsteps. I just wanted to be like him.

Me, the hubby, and the handsome brothers
(Pie is next to me on my left, your right)

We’re both adults now (obv), and we’re both terrible at keeping in touch. But that doesn’t particularly matter, because I always know he loves me and wants the best for me and believes in me. He is a man who helped form my view of what a good man is. Because of him (and my dad and a few others, of course), I grew up without that stifling feeling that some women have of needing to pretend to be dumb so that boys will accept you. He never expected me to be anything other than smart, funny, kind. The men in my life were never intimidated by my success as I was growing up—they expected and supported it.

He was one of my first writing fans, but he manages to not make me feel guilty when he asks how the writing is going (since it usually isn’t). He’ll buy copies of my books (probably more than he needs) if I’m ever published. He and his wife did more for my wedding reception than I probably know—but I do know that they bought a great deal of the food and helped a lot with preparations, without making me feel like a burden. He has always been willing to help me in whatever I need.

I got to see him recently, on a trip out to Utah, and it was lovely. We hadn’t seen each other in over two years. We talked and talked and talked while our kids played and generally entertained themselves. It was happy but also sad. I miss the get-togethers we used to have until everyone started moving and going their separate ways.

Last week, Pie turned one year older, and probably a year wiser too. I’m grateful to have him in my life. In an art class I took in high school, we had an assignment that required we each bring a photograph to work from. I chose one of Makani, maybe five or six years old, standing in our front yard in a Superman costume. That’s who he was through all my childhood: my hero.

Happy birthday, Pie!