Balance

Sam bounces – just out of his seat, bent knees, hands clinched in perfect 90 degree angles from his waist. One, two, three, the yellow glow shoots upward; and then – BANG - fireworks. Sam abruptly sits to watch the explosion; and then he’s up again, bouncing as the next ember makes its way through the night sky at Smokies Stadium.

He has absolutely no idea he’s bouncing; and if anyone dared to point it out, he would be horrified. It’s one of his tics. Sam unknowingly hums, smacks his hand against his thigh, or bounces, when he’s excited or agitated, without even realizing it’s happening.

Even though he is sitting right next to Jill, she doesn’t even look in his direction. Instead, she stares at two teenage boys a few rows up from us who are giggling and hopping, exaggerating Sam’s bounce. She stares until they notice her. She continues to stare after they’ve stopped bouncing, sat down, and have begun looking around on the ground for something – anything. They’re obviously embarrassed that she’s caught them. Then, finally, when she refuses to look away, they get up and move all together.

Then and only then, Jill turns her attention back to the night sky, still not even glancing at Sam as he bobs up and down.

It’s amazing to me that my easy-going, well-liked 7-year-old daughter will stare two teenage boys into submission to protect her brother. She knows that if Sam sees them, he’ll be devastated. If he realizes he’s bouncing, he’ll be humiliated. So, she takes care of it, playing the protector, making sure they quit before he catches on.

Sam will never know what his sister just did for him, what she does for him all the time. But if Jill ever needed back-up, Sam, as backward and antisocial as he is, will become loud, even violent. He’ll defend her if she’s being picked on, threaten to beat people up if they so much as brush against her, and could care less if he gets in trouble as long as she’s okay. Sam is Jill’s number one fan. For Sam, Jill is his best friend – really the only person I’ve ever heard him call a “friend” – and he takes that role very seriously.

The two of them have an unusually close bond and would do anything to make sure the other is happy. The fact that they do it so differently isn’t the unusual thing - after all, they are polar opposites almost 24/7 - it’s the fact they seem to switch roles.

When it comes to defending his sister, quiet Sam makes his presence known - he means business. Out-going Jill is methodical, working quietly to make sure everyone understands Sam is to be treated with respect and compassion.

Sam boisterously shouts, “This is my sister and I love her so don’t mess with us." Jill sits silent and stares, whispers, shakes her head. Other kids, shocked by the quiet disapproval, comply.

And where Sam takes chest-beating pride in the fact that he can be a good big brother; Jill is perfectly content to do her job without accolades.

They become each other, only when they protect. And everything stays in balance.