Oh, brother. You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family. Sometimes I think about this saying. Friends make sense to me; we are drawn to those who we interact well with. We choose them (whether it's conscious or not.) But my family is a combination of such radically different people, so I know this saying to be rather true. A person can't choose the family they're born into, because my family wouldn't really make much sense then. Maybe the senselessness is what makes it beautiful. Being forced together in this completely raw and intimate way that no other circumstances would allow. My family, so strange and beautiful. My family with the memories of the creek in our backyard, of playing basketball and running to and from the Indian house, of Saturday visits to Sun Video, of Brite Tree and Brain Child, of the dyed celery science projects. So senseless but so wonderful. Would I have chosen this if I were given the chance to choose? Would I have chosen this means and foundation for my life? But to my brother: after twenty-six very eventful years and being with me through all twenty-two of mine, if I were ever to choose, I would have chosen you.