the black sheep in my family

There’s one in every family. The relative you’re embarrassed of. The family screw up. The one whose existence you rationalize with thinking, “He/She must’ve been adopted.” It’s ok. I have one too. And that person is my brother.

I love my brother dearly. Growing up, I always felt that I was much closer to him than my sister. In fact, I idolized my brother. He was the one who showed me the wonderful world of sports. He was the one who taught me how to play basketball. When I was 12, he was also the same person who knocked me unconscious with a softball while he was helping me make the team (I love baseball, but apparently I wasn’t destined to play it). We religiously watched basketball games and old-school Godzilla movies together. I so wanted to be like him. So much so, that I hated my boobs when they started coming in. They were a constant reminder of how I was growing up to be a woman at a time that I wanted to be just one of the boys (now, I still kinda want to be one of the boys but I’ve come to appreciate the boobs).

My brother and I didn’t always see eye to eye. Just because I wanted to be like him didn’t mean that I believed everything he believed. He thought that the greatest basketball player ever was Magic Johnson. I knew it was Michael Jordan. He was a Laker fan. I liked the Bulls. He bled Dodger blue. I remain true to my Angels. Football was something he and I never discussed because I just couldn’t get into it as a kid. I have vague recollections of my family being into Notre Dame football. Why? I imagine it was because we are Catholic and Notre Dame is a Catholic school. Football wouldn’t be a big deal in my life until 1995, my senior year at Mater Dei High.

I had already committed to USC after visiting the campus with my mom and several occasions. I knew I was going to go there the minute we drove through the gates on Figueroa. At the time, I had never been more sure of anything in my life. To this day, it’s a decision I know I will never regret.

I followed USC during the ‘95 season. That year, Keyshawn Johnson led the Trojans to the Rose Bowl game against Northwestern. My family and I watched the Rose Parade together that year (I was full of pride as I watched the USC band march on the screen) as well as the game. USC won that game 41-32. Keyshawn did the Heisman Trophy pose in the end zone. It was great. My brother wasn’t all that impressed.

That game (I’m sure the fact that I was an incoming freshman also helped) converted my family to USC fans…well, except my brother. He refused to cheer for USC. Why? Because he is (and probably always will be) a diehard Notre Dame fan. My mom and sis decided to support me by supporting my school.

My brother, on the other hand, is still a Notre Dame fan. How we could be related is a mystery to me. He’s going against the family grain. Every year, the week of the USC/Notre Dame game, my brother gives me a hard time (actually this year, my brother started early with a text message last week). I try to stay away from the smack talking. In 1998, I invited my brother to watch the game with me. At the last minute, something “came up” at work and he couldn’t go. He’s a cop so it’s entirely possible that his excuse was true. However, I know better. Something tells me he didn’t want to go home a loser (USC won that game, 10-0, in a nailbiter).

Since Serena Rose’s birth (and my subsequent purchase of a USC onesie for her), the USC/Notre Dame battle has taken on a new meaning. Rich is determined to send his daughter to South Bend for her higher learning. I obviously oppose this. Serena will be graduating with USC’s class of 2025!! I guarantee it. Notre Dame celebrated their victory over (insert name of subpar college football program here, since they haven’t played anyone important since Michigan) on Saturday by chanting “Beat ‘SC, Beat ‘SC.” I have a feeling my brother, who watched the game on TV I’m sure, was chanting along with them.

This year’s game is on his birthday. May the best team win on Saturday.

I already know who that is.