At the Ball with the Prince

I met my younger brother, Bob, in Philadelphia on Friday night. He was in town running a conference on publishing research for a group of medical types - I never really got the details. We ate a rushed buffet dinner in a room jammed with ravenous doctors, most wondering aloud when the free drink tickets were to arrive. Suddenly a young man stood up, clinked on his glass and demanded "Shut the doors - everyone needs to stay for this." Clearly we were in for one of those rituals one loves to hate. My brother shot up, told me to grab my drink and we headed for the door. I specialize in moving invisibly through crowds and I slid through the door just as it was being closed. My brother ended up on the other side because he took a detour to the dessert table. I guess rank has privilege-even to leave- because he emerged shortly, carrying cheesecake in his hand (no plate) and we headed down broad circular steps to the lobby below. I felt very much like preteens escaping from wedding toasts (Bob's hasty consumption of his palmed cheesecake cemented that.) The only difference was that had I really been 12, I would have slipped off my "grown-up shoes" and run down the staircase barefoot. But I like my grown-up shoes, they make me feel - grown-up. So we descended to the lobby at a gracious pace which did allow Bob to finish his dessert. In that quiet, ornate space we began our own waltz, and it lasted over four hours.

I don't see Bob very often and I can't remember the last time we were with each other without
siblings, offspring or partners. I believe it was about 20 years ago. We had no problem finding conversation.

We began with him holding forth on his political views. I have no idea whether I agree with him because he is so well-read, so passionately involved, so globally knowledgeable, that it is impossible to contribute intelligently without the same preparedness - which few of us have - certainly not me. It is better just to listen, ask a few questions and then file it all away to put into context later. But discussing politics without rancor is a great icebreaker. We glided through all of that, nary a misstep. Now in rhythm and sync, we moved into the essential topics - the topics that could only be discussed alone and had therefore been waiting years to be given voice.

We began by talking about children. Our children. His are of the age where they tear your hearts out daily, mine, somewhat older are more pleasures than problems. However, I have years behind me of the same types of pain and I am qualified to say, "It is frightening, yes, but you are not in the red zone, not even close. It's OK to step back and let them breathe a bit. They can't learn to avoid falls if they don't practice tripping. We talked for a very long time about his children and mine. He gave light to some troubling fears, and I could, with all honestly, put most of them to rest. He literally danced down the hall later - like a man who has been told, "Your grim self-diagnoses is all wrong. You are going to be fine."

Then with the lights dimming and the day waning, we slowed almost to a stop. With mutual unspoken consent, we plunged feet first into the deeper, darker places. We compared our eight-years-apart impressions of long ago events that still send damaging suckers into the intertwined roots of our family. We picked at old scabs and then dabbed at the blood that emerged. We laid bare the idea of forgiveness and concluded reluctantly that there is not always value in forgiving. Sometimes forgiveness itself is destructive. But we agreed that the guilt that comes with non-forgiveness is consuming and it is that which must be set free if we are to have the strength to enjoy the rest of the dances.

We ended the ball with a early morning slow gavotte down Locust Street. My brother is not a city dweller. He saw muggers on the steps of every bar, hit and run drivers behind the wheel of every vehicle. I laughed. We were, after all, in Rittenhouse Square. And then he laughed. Because right then we had our palms planted firmly on happy. Right then the music was pure and sweet and jubilant and we were still dancing.