In which I brag about my brother

Warning: Love Burst to follow.

I have a wonderful brother.  Like, ridiculously wonderful.  The kind of brother that allowed his boisterous little sister to use him as a jungle gym as a baby, who let me hold low-grade hostage negotiations for the toys of his I stole as a kid, and who told me I looked beautiful before my first dance as a teenager.  That is one cool brother.

But there's something about him I find even cooler.  My brother is the kind of guy who became aware of his white, educated, male privilege at about, I'm guessing, three years old.  And he started his work to dismantle that privilege at about three and a half.  All hyperbole aside, my brother is someone who I see working on the front lines to deconstruct the unjust systems of power which are pervasive in our culture and in our history.  I hope I can be like him in that way.

He can do all that because he's brilliant.  But he can also do that work because he is one of the most sensitive, compassionate people I have ever met--I'm serious when I say that, oftentimes, I think he would be a much better chaplain than me.  He has the brains and the heart to do incredible things in this world, and he already is.  He certainly taught me a lot as a kid--through all the deep theological exploration and discernment I've done in seminary, I'm constantly aware that I am able to employ the the concepts of postmodernism, feminism, deconstruction, and liberation because my brother taught me about them first.

All this to say: I love my brother.  He is one cool guy.