FUN Friday

My little brother had a heart attack this week at 37. It woke him up at 2am on Monday. He doesn't have health insurance so he didn't go to the hospital until he passed out at work today in the Nurse's office. He's in overnight as they run tests to see how much damage has been done. 37 is too young for a heart attack. I'm not even 40 yet and I'm too young to lose my baby brother. I thought my FUN Friday post would be a few fun stories about Drew to entertain you and to make myself feel better. I'm probably breaking a million Blog Rules by posting this AND one of my stories, but I don't care. I don't blog for rules. I blog for ME.

I can't share my favorite Drew memory with you because we're sworn to secrecy and will carry it to the grave.

When he was born, I was thrilled to have a baby brother. My mom couldn't put him on the floor because I would instantly smother him with kisses.

As he got older, though, I wished he was a baby sister instead. So I dressed him like one. He let me. Mom took pictures. They were in frames on my desk when I worked in production. He did as well, though we always on separate tv shows. I would get calls from him every so often after a mutual friend had stopped by my office to say 'hi'. "I thought I told you to take those pictures DOWN!" he would yell. "You're ruining my rep!" 5'11", 250 pound men don't like to be seen with dresses and hats on, you see. I would apologize and swear that I was putting them in my desk, but I never took them down. His reaction was too much fun.




When he was four years old, I caught him at the end of the hallway stuffing cotton up his nose. We had to go to the hospital so that they could pull out. I tormented him on the way there with images of loooooooong needles they would stick in him. Because I'm that kind of sister.



When he was seven, he was chasing me with a grasshopper (which I was terrified of) when he tripped on the rug in my grandma's kitchen and split his lip open on the foot of her dining room table. He spent Thanksgiving in the ER getting his lip stitched. When we lived together after college, I paid to have that dining room table brought up from San Diego when my grandparents were going to donate it. I told him that I wanted it to be a constant reminder to him what would happen if he tried to chase me with anything. Because I'm that kind of sister.

I quit drinking nine years ago. We had season seats to the San Diego Chargers together (that's him, Bren and Sean). I had been sober for less than 48 hours when we went to a game together. I was sitting in my seat when he came down the stairs with the biggest beer I have EVER seen. The plastic cup was so full, the alcohol sloshed over the sides, some of it onto me. He heaved his giant frame down into the seat next to me, his eyes on the field, completely oblivious to my disbelieving gaze. I cleared my throat. He looked over at me and said, "WHAT?" "Do you MIND?!?" "Jenn, you're going to have to get used to it if you're going to stay sober. You should be THANKING me." And with that, he took a lusty gulp complete with the "AAAAHHHHH!" after he swallowed. That's my baby brother. I'm laughing now as I'm typing this and I can't tell you how many times I've shared this story today.

Before you label him a tool, let me tell you that this is the brother who came to my aid at 8pm on a Friday night when I was working on a pilot and my Production Assistant quit. I had 26 scripts that had to be delivered. As the Coordinator, this now fell on my shoulders. My brother, who was all of 23 at the time, gave up clubbing with his friends to come help his sister. He spent an hour pouring over addresses, labeling the envelopes and dividing the deliveries (yes, network people, producers and actors want their scripts delivered no matter what). He took 13. But not just any 13. He took the 13 that had to go the farthest because he didn't want his sister out delivering scripts until 2am (which is when he finally got home).

(from left: Drew, Sean, Bren, Drew's son Dillon, and Dear Ol' Dad)

So while he can be selfish at times, he can also be incredibly giving and caring on other occasions. Just like baby brothers should be. He has been my biggest tormentor and my biggest defender. We have shared 37 years of hopes and dreams and triumphs and pain. It would suck to lose him now. Hopefully, this is the wake up call he needs to change his lifestyle, to go back to being the carefree brother who used to roll with the punches even when he ran out of film in the middle of a Friday night shoot.

He is the funniest guy I know. I love him dearly. 37 years is not even close to being enough time with him. I want at least 37 more.

Who is your closest relative? And what is your favorite story?