Sibling Love

Just before I headed home to Hampton for Thanksgiving break, I joked with a few friends at Grinnell that I would likely be returning with a black eye. Four days later, and that prophecy has become a reality. You see, this is what happens when five brothers are all home together with wrestling season in full swing: it’s an unavoidable consequence that we’ll each end up scraped and bruised from duking it out on the mat in the basement.

In all seriousness though, it’s this element of brotherly bonding that I find so intriguing. While most of the happenings throughout this break exemplify the brighter side of sibling diplomacy, our minor injuries are but a testament to the duality that a healthy sibling rivalry encourages. Be it playing a million games of “King’s Court,” a version of supercheckers, with my Egyptian brother, recounting stories from seven years back with my Pakistani brother, helping out on the farm with my Albanian brother, enjoying meals by and with my American brother, or playing around in this weekend’s freshly-fallen winter wonderland with all four, I was surrounded by good company. Not a dull moment went by with such a myriad cast of characters, and for that, I am eternally thankful.

As I grew up, I tended to have at least two siblings at home, one international and one biological, but as time has gone on, this dynamic has only grown more complex. I remember the Thanksgiving I spent in Malaysia, 2023, when my Pakistani brother, Shahmir, had come to visit the rest of my family in Hampton. My Albanian brother, Rimmy, was back as well, and since both of those two were now in college, one in Indiana and the other in Iowa, this seemed to be a tradition that may well continue. At that time Anto, my Indian brother, was on his exchange year, and William, my American little brother was around as well, of course. As I watched from afar, a little over 9,000 miles away, to be exact, I remember thinking to myself that this was the most siblings of mine that I had ever seen gathered in a single place. It’s hard enough to get my brothers and sisters to coalesce in the same continent or even the same hemisphere, so fathoming that many under the same roof was generally a stretch of the imagination. This year, however, I joined in among that number—a family gathering that looks more like a meeting of the United Nations than a Midwestern Thanksgiving reunion.

It’s incredible to me that these siblings have seen me at such disparate moments in my own life and path to maturity. Shahmir first met me as I entered sixth grade, a mere 11 years old, Rimmy as I started high school, and Hazem, my Egyptian brother, as I went off to college earlier this year. Each of them met a different “Isaac” during their exchange year, and yet, here they are, all in one place, at one time. It’s truly mind-boggling that five of us, together, can share in crafting new memories outside of the stories we share of the past and connections outside of the WiFi needed for a video call. Having so many siblings home for Thanksgiving makes the world feel like such a wonderfully small place.

While the thoughts expressed above are somewhat nuanced, that’s only because I had time to ruminate on the events that transpired over break on my deliberately slow and careful drive back to Grinnell. I certainly hadn’t put word to these feelings when we went sledding together at the pasture, the snow whipping in our faces as we took turns riding the inner tube or all clambering aboard the homemade car-hood sled as my dad towed us. As I saw it then, there was simply a wonder of being in this place with these people. To know that, from halfway around the world or more, so many siblings had found their way here and now, was poetic, warming, and an ethereal realization I handled with care.

That awe is something I cling to. It’s a strong sense of sibling love that transcends all borders and somehow, seemingly serendipitously, falls upon a select few seasons and spaces, with this past weekend as the shining crown jewel.