Brother James

Growing up, I was rather annoyed by the fact that there never seemed to be enough room in the family station wagon. I have one brother and one sister, and for what seemed like years on end, I was always the one sitting between the two of them. I often thought about how great it might be if my parents had only two children, since two kids to a backseat is much more roomy than three. However, I am the baby of this family and I very well did not want to be the one eliminated from the pack.

Nowadays, we rarely go out in one car. In fact, we may never do it again since my immediate family is slowly expanding and segmenting into sub-families of their own. And even if we were still required to sit in one car, I now wish that my parents had had a minivan full of children. As an adult child, I recognize that more siblings mean more people to share the responsibilities of being a family member. And believe you me, it's not an easy thing being a member of this family.

Over a month ago, I met a tall, white like Jewish egg bread, young electrical engineer named James; he was one of my brother's groomsmen. During the course of two consecutive weekends, the first in Lousiana and the latter in Los Angeles, I noticed that he has a compulsion for thoroughly reading instruction manuals and picks up after himself without being prompted. James also happens to speak Mandarin fluently and understands Chinese cultural nuances.

My immediate and extended family both really like James. He effortlessly integrated into our conversations and activities as if we had known him for decades. So, at one point during the craziness of the wedding, we decided to adopt him as one of our own. And really, I could not be happier about having another sibling. James is the kind of brother you would happily squeeze yourself in the backseat of a regular size sedan for. That is how much sibling perfection he is.

Welcome to the familia, Brother James.