Au contraire, mon frère

Many will be happy to know that my brother's visit was extremely enjoyable. My cousin Jolene joined us for his week-long European vacation, and we had quite the time indeed. The highlight was definitely a laid back 3 days in the great city of Amsterdam where we had a ball strolling and rolling through the canopy of fall colors around the canals and shops of the Dutch wonderland.
Paris was actually more accessible than I originally thought...almost all the buses are accessible with ramps and with 2 of the most laid back, indifferent tourists ever, I had a blast just riding around checking out the sights at leisure. We had crepes and red wine and hot chocolate, my brother participated in a protest concerning the rights of French immigrants, and we spent enough time in the Louvre to become fully saturated with fine art.
This morning (my brother's birthday, no less) was a bit of a nightmare trying to get to the airport by public transportation. The ease of the week somehow made us forget the fact that shit happens. And the obstacles presented to those in wheelchairs can be quite time consuming. I guess the laid back indifference has its drawbacks.
I'm notorious for getting to the airport late. It's really only thanks to some twisted miraculous luck that I've never missed a flight. The time when I would have most definitely missed one, the plane was delayed 3 hours. Just a couple of months ago, I arrived at LaGuardia just in time to be scurried through international lines and escorted directly to the plane by a ticket agent for my flight here.
I will now note that Gary and Jolene (a.k.a. Rupert and Winkie) were aware of this reputation. I say this only because of my extreme guilt for what happened this morning. I was late meeting them (I was to help them with the luggage), and waiting for me probably cost them a precious 20 minutes. 20 minutes, however, was nothing compared to the hour and a half we spent looking for the elevator to the RER at Chatelet (the closest Parisian equivalent to Grand Central Station) and arguing with the extraordinarily rude bus drivers for the CDG bus-shuttle thingy. To top it off, the bus-driver told them to get off at the wrong terminal, so I don't know if the 20 minutes would have saved the day...but it certainly hasn't stopped the tears today.
Luckily, the great people at Delta were able to get them on another flight and waved the charge. It was, however, with a layover and just thinking of the miserable birthday he must be having has left me irreparably blue.
My brother is an enigma, and undoubtedly the most amazing individual I know. I've often said he has the epitome of confidence without an ounce of pride. For those of you who don't know him, he was in a car accident in 2002 that completely severed his spinal cord. He's a paraplegic. But he's more of an MBA student/full-time computer engineer, homeowner who drives and is completely self-reliant, who just happens to get around on wheels.
I discovered this week, he is also the least opinionated, most argumentative person I know. He is a Libra afterall, and although I don't put too much stock in Astrology (hey, it's probably more stable than most things on the market today), I can't help but note the fact. He argues every side to every issue, and although he certainly has opinions (I am the worst driver ever, for example), he is slow in deliberate in deciding what those opinions are. Always weighing the each side. I envy his endurance.
My brother also loves money. Always has. At a very young age, his penchant for making a buck was blatantly obvious. He's a steadfast saver, a wise investor and a hard worker. But for someone who's all about the Benjamins, he is extraordinarily generous (almost to a fault). A couple of Christmas's ago, this man gave me Monopoly and replaced the fake money with real dough. I mean, come on. He also doesn't have a materialistic bone in his skinny body. He'd wear the same clothes everyday, eat spaghetti for dinner every night, and really only seems to buy the necessities (keystone light and Wi games excluded).
We got into a conversation the other night about fate. He thinks it's bullshit. There is no rhyme or reason, and the world is left to chance. He hasn't ruled out the idea of a creator, but he/she's not an active God. There is no hand. There is no control. But he believes in luck, he says with a grin. And believes he has it.
Au contraire, mon frère. It is anyone who knows you that is lucky. Anyone you've smiled at or argued with or loved or hated. Anyone who's opened a door for you or helped you on a bus. Anyone who got your "pardon" song or gracious "merci." And me. Your fuck-up of a big sis that didn't get you to the airport on time. I'm sorry and I love you. Bon anniversaire.