I was home this weekend for my sister's wedding , of which I can say with a slight bias, it was one of the most beautiful ceremonies I have ever seen. I had to read a poem in the middle of it, and I was afraid I would start to cry. You all can ask me about that later (It's not what I'm here to talk about). The best part about Sarah's wedding was getting to go home, and see my family. Especially my brother, Timmy. It was not easy growing up with Timmy as a little brother. He can be quite the pain in the ass from time to time (By "ass," of course, I mean democrat). I love him though, and he grew up to be quite an interesting person. He's got a great life in Salinas. A great relationship with his family, an awesome girlfriend, the ability to drive stick shift, and has the distinct honor of being one of the top 50 rock climbers in the nation.
There's more to him than that though.
My father went to one of the meat markets he designed the day I got home. He needed some meat for the rehearsal dinner we were having at our house the next day. The man who owned the place was having difficulty paying for my father's services, so he was taking his payment in chicken and steak. Dad grabbed Timmy before he left and said that the butcher wanted to meet him. Timmy just shrugged it off, and went along. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. When Dad and Tim arrived at the meat market, the manager emphatically shook Timmy's hand and gave him his business card. "I've heard all about you, and what you're doing," he said. "If you ever need anything, give me a call. I want to help."
I've always thought my brother could do anything. I felt like his dreams for himself were too small. He doesn't want to go to college. He wants to join the police academy, so that he can fulfill his lifelong dream of being a police officer. Maybe it's just my own personal feelings about the police, but I just always thought my little brother could do better than that. Like, he could probably be the real Batman. He's passionate about justice, he's got good eye-hand coordination, he's good at climbing walls. All he need is funding. If we could somehow get him to a planet with a weaker gravitational pull than our sun, he could probably be Superman. He would make a good Superman, flying around in circles, picking up people that fall off of buildings, pulling cats out of trees and the like. I still don't understand why my little brother wants to be a cop when he could be Superman.
As much time as he spends there, you'll never catch Timmy in the rock climbing gym on a Monday night. On that night, he, his girlfriend, and another kid from their high school youth group are in downtown south Salinas, in one of the most dangerous areas to be. They spend their night at Dorothy's Kitchen, a local soup kitchen, preparing a custom meal for the people in the women's shelter that is housed there. It's just the three of them. They were brought to Dorothy's by some adult leaders in their church, trying to "teach the kids how to serve the poor." The adults are long gone. Only the three of them remain. They know these women that come in by first name. They know what kind of food they like, and what their dietary needs are. Each week, Timmy and his friends prepare a meal for the homeless the same way a mother prepares a meal for her children. With those who are eating it in mind. They sit, they cook, and eat with them like family. I think Tim really gets what family is. I just don't know how to put it any other way.
You can't walk the streets of Salinas without seeing somebody that Timmy knows personally. The people we try to ignore. He knows their names. He waves back to them, and says "See you Monday."
That's the thing I forget about dreams.
I have often thought that success was having a good job, a well adjusted family, a good relationship with God and ...being creative. I don't know, something like painting as a hobby. Given that definition, you can't be very successful as a Cop in Salinas. I didn't realize that that's not what my brother is. He is like Jesus, in more ways than I can say with good conscience that I am.
A few weeks ago, my brother was talking about what he does with one of the elders of my church. "Oh yeah, Dorothy's Kitchen," he said. "My wife and I used to go there, but I can't handle it anymore. I got propositioned by a prostitute the last time I was there." With one sentence, Timmy turned the world upside down and turned this elder, this church leader, this great teacher, into a student, while he became the teacher. "Yeah," he smiled. "Those people are my friends."
My brother. Mild mannered high school student. Jesus to the prostitutes and butchers of Salinas. Superman.
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