To my recollection I have never said ‘I love you’ to my old man or my little brother. And I could be wrong here, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard them say it to me. At least I don’t remember it if they did. But here’s the thing, I don’t need them to tell me that shit. In fact, if my dad told me that he loved me — just out of the blue on the phone or something — I’d most likely take it as a very odd and troublesome sign. I know there are families out there with brothers who tell brothers that they love each other, and sons who tell fathers the same, but — I’m just being honest here — I always found those families super fucking weird. I mean the cool thing about brotherly love, or the love between a father and a son, is that its an unspoken thing. It’s like Travolta’s line of logic about the foot massage in Pulp Fiction. The power is that it’s undeclared. It just is.
I guess I’m starting this blurb off about love and shit because when I look at this film of my little brother, I feel totally overcome by love for him. Like I’m compelled to actually call him up and say “I love you” like one of those weirdos that do that. Which is especially funny when you consider that it starts out with him shotgunning a beer. But it’s the truth. I feel love for the lil dude. EO