For The Girls

"Brock, when are you going to write a blogpost about me?" One of my sisters says. I can't remember which one, I think the one who has kids.

"Yeah Brock, what about me? When do I get a post? I think I deserve a spot on your blog too." Says the one born in the 90's. 

"Seriously, you wrote one for Mom, when do I get one?" The one rummaging through her purse says. 

Women. SMH. Can I get an Amen from the congregation? 

For full effect, download "Lady Marmelade" from the soundtrack of Moulin Rouge, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. 

For those of you who haven't been stalking my life for the past 20-something years, let me fill you in on the details. Single child until I was five, Brady Bunch-esque situation happens at that point suddenly bombarding me with five older sisters. Following which, the estrogen levels at our house would be increased every year from that point with more double-X creatures being brought into this world until the big man upstairs said, "Alright, alright, eleven is enough. I don't want that boy of yours to forget he has a penis."

Now you may laugh to yourself and think this storyline is a Hallmark movie plot gone awry, but that last paragraph basically summed up my entire childhood. I lived in a home chock full of drama and pantyhose. A home with more hair-clogged drains, more prom dresses, more empty cans of hairspray than an entire season of Downton Abbey can tally up. I lived in a feminine paradise, littered with empty mascara tubes, crumpled up Peanut Butter M&M bags, and broken high heels. 

You may say, "Dang Brock, how did you survive that mess of hormones and Tampax?" But on the contrary, it wasn't that bad. Honestly, I'm actually kind of glad I had them around to help raise me. Because they taught me quite a few things about the female gender that most males are ignorant about until their deathbeds. They taught me how to open doors and compliment on dates, how to just shut my face and be silent when women need to vent about how their cell phone lost service at the mall, that when a woman says they're fine, they're not, and that by saying the word "relax" to them almost always has the opposite effect. They taught me that the male gender as a whole have a mean IQ below 30, but on the contrary women as a whole are slightly irrational, and that I should just accept those facts. They taught me that for a few days every once in a while, I need to just be a little more patient with them, for the sake of future generations. 

I'm grateful for those lessons. I'm grateful to have been blessed with a house full of sisters, every last one of them. The one who sang with me in Chamber Choir, the one who's in the seizure club with me, the one who's half black, the one I've never met, the one I call Lunchbox, the one across the country, the one I taught how to crawl, the one who's named after a Disney Princess, the one who I graduated with, the one who is a ginger, and the one who would pray with me every night over the phone throughout her childhood. Yeah, count em up. It's quite an intimidating list, I know. But I L-word every last one of them, and everything they taught me as we've all been on one hell of a journey over the years. 

So there you have it girls, there's the post you all requested. I don't know what all the fuss is about. This blog isn't anything special or some kind of prestigious award or anything. Heck, only a couple hundred people are going to be reading this anyway. You do know this blog has now evolved into an online journal for my kids to read to try and understand how their old man works upstairs? Yeah, go ahead and thank How I Met Your Mother for that evolution. Either way, this post and these words will still be around in a few decades to tell my posterity how amazing all of you are.

I hope you're all going to be around to tell them that too.