There was a phrase I heard a lot when I was young, especially in Jr High. It’s something that many of you can probably relate to in your own way, while others have no real understanding of it’s impact. It’s a phrase that can challenge you or squash you. It’s something your parents might say, and it enlightens you regardless: you know they are possibly frustrated with you, or proud of a sibling while not necessarily being proud of you. I am talking of course about this: “Why can’t you be more like your brother?”

I admit I heard this a few times when I was small, and there were two very different occasions when I heard it. It didn’t always come from my parents, either. (More on that later). But first, a bit about my brother, Bob, who is three years older than me. The first son of a first son, he obliged his position in life by growing up tall, intelligent, and handsome. You know the type. Captain of the basketball team. Played the part of Little Abner in the musical Little Abner. (even president of the chorus). Successful in band, popular with the girls. All the most popular people were his friends. Even had good, (no, excellent!) grades without much studying. (Now, intelligence is not wisdom. You can be very smart and understand the three laws of motion and still hurt yourself.) Note the three years difference in our ages. He was a smooth senior when I was the klutzy freshman. I am not skinny now, or all that cute, and have never been. I didn’t get good grades without studying. I was the grunt offensive lineman in football, necessary but unglamorous. I couldn’t sing as well, couldn’t play trumpet well, and just didn’t compare. I was different and plain, hardly anyone’s role model.

When my brother did some great thing, like bring home a great report card of A’s and B’s, I would bring home one full of C’s My parents would say… yep, you guessed it. When my brother was the lead in the Musical “Annie Get Your Gun”, my parents would proudly say… yes, right again. When I disappointed them, I heard it. When he did them proud, I heard it. Not to knock my parents, not in any way. Both of my parents are older siblings in their own families, from a more difficult era of American history. They expected you to toe the mark, and if not why not? So I am sure it never was meant to put me down, but was more of a challenge to me. Others who said it? Why, teachers of course. Crihfield not being a common name, and having parents that were teachers, and an uncle who was a teacher, etc there was no hope that I would slip by unnoticed. “Why Randy, aren’t you Bob’s brother?“ They would say. I would manage to get a B on a test and as praise they would tell me “You’re almost as good as your brother” (One teacher, a very old 6th grade math teacher, compared me to my DAD, who she had once had as a student. He was also an excellent student, at that time. “You’re almost as good as your dad” has no better ring to it.)

Let me tell you where all this is heading. One day, my brother was trying to light a wood burning furnace in our Uncle’s garage. We boys were playing out there with our cousins, and wanted to stoke it up. My genius brother throws in logs with no kindling, pours kerosene on the logs, and throws in match after match. No go. I have suggestions, but he won’t listen to a little pesky brother like me. So he gets a wad of newspapers and throws them in. The papers are a bit damp and won’t roar up, so he STICKS HIS HEAD INSIDE THE FURNACE and blows on the papers. Whoom! The logs are lit. Explosively! But he has much shorter hair, and crispy black soot where his eyebrows used to be. Is he hurt? Nope. He turns to me, and the first thing he says is “Don’t tell dad!” Well duh. Do you think I’d have to say a thing, Mr. Butane-Bob?

You see, as much as my parents compared me to my brother, he was as full of faults as I was. I was downright bad, but clever. My brother was better behaved, but common sense was lacking. I could never hold it against him when my parents would utter that phrase. I could have folded up and quit trying, but I took it as a challenge to improve. By the time I was a senior, I was as good as my brother had ever been. How would you take it? Would you get sick of hearing it? Would it make you angry? You know, there are those in the church who compare brethren the same way. “Brother, your lesson was great today but I sure wish I could have heard John preach it instead, he has a better way about him. Brother Joe leads the best prayers, why can’t you pray like that? I liked your song selection, too bad brother Amos didn’t lead those same songs, he has a wonderful voice. Sister Kristen makes such great class material, why don’t you see if she will spruce up your classroom for you?” Ignore this silliness! Why try to impress men? There is only one that matters we please. Only one can be our true pattern in life, which we all must strive to measure up to. Christ!

Randy