Peter

Little Rat turns twenty today. He will probably spend the day, as he spends most of them, behind the deli counter at Safeway. After he gets off work, he will drive his car home, hugging the center line the whole way, and watch cartoons for an hour before getting up to go feed the dogs, unload the dishwasher, and set up the coffee pot for tomorrow morning. Little Rat requested Red Robin for his birthday dinner; so rarely does he expresses a preference for anything that we will gladly drop our busyness to drive an hour for an evening at the mall with him.

When he came to us, Emil was as wild as any feral animal. He'd ball his fists up and shove them deep into his eye sockets, rocking back and forth and drawing so far into himself that I couldn't see how he'd ever find his way out. Thirteen years later, Little Rat won't even hear of letting me do the dishes after I've cooked dinner. It's okay Kathy. I can handle it. You just go relax.

Little Rat loves to call me Kathy and pat me on the back. Do not be fooled by his sweetness -- he is no saint or martyr. His ability to get under my skin rivals even that of my sister (who he calls Frosty the Snow Meg. HA!), who can still make me burst into tears at 28. When it comes to our parents, he gets away with things the rest of us would've walked the plank for saying. He delights in the same worn out jokes time and again simply because they make me crazy. When Little Rat says You can live and Kathy, you're such a Kathy it drives me up the wall. I tell him that I'll pull his hair right out of his head if he says it once more and he looks at me for a second. I'll take that as a remark, Kathy. And then pats me on the back and scampers away to clean the kitchen.

If I write about Little Rat more than anyone else, it is because he is his own fairy tale, a happy ending that has nothing to do with the girl finding her prince. Despite the hope that I profess, I mostly pitch my tent in the realist camp. Over the years, I've found it helpful to keep my expectations low in life, to see the redemption in the single, tiny, bud and be thankful. Virtue is its own reward; we adopted these boys because it was the right thing to do and that would be enough to get us through. But somehow, where a wild, stunted, broken little child came to us, a composed, engaging, gentle, kind person now occupies his seat at the table. My tall, skinny little brother is a blessing beyond anything I could've imagined for my family. The plot is so full of redemption and Little Rat is the most compelling character I know.

See: Litte Rat, Birth to find out how he got his name.