Celebrating (someone who celebrates you) (even when you’re godawful)

My brother Tony will reach back to the womb to find a time you were better than him at something. 

This past year when I was over at his home he lured me onto the tennis court with a couple of his daughters. I sucked, not having played in a few decades. 

Tony, who is smoking good, immediately bragged on me to his daughters! About when I was better than he was . . . 

I did the math — that was 35 years ago! when I was seventeen! — just before I gave up tennis for racquetball.

You have to go that far back in the historical record to find a time when I was better than Tony in tennis.

Let me give you a comparison: 

That would be like America running around telling other nations its older brother, Great Britain, was way much better at being the big man on the world stage — 

“Hey everybody, Great Britain is so great, you wouldn’t believe how much better Great Britain was than me at global dominance.” 

Yeah, that was so 1700s, but . . . 

“Great Britain could rock the world back then!”

Yet that’s Tony’s natural gift, to play up the qualities everyone around him has, even in areas where he outshines us immeasurably. 

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