Technically he’s a brother-in-law, my husband’s brother, someone I acquired through marriage. But in reality, he’s more brother than an in-law.
He was 13 years old when Jon and I started dating, and made all the appropriate faces and sounds whenever Jon and I were affectionate or kissed. He’s the one that fought with Jon on the phone extension when he needed the phone and we’d extended our hour-long conversation by another 20 minutes. I went with the family to his junior high soccer games, sitting in the bleachers and cheering him on. We played football in the street during Super Bowl half-times and walked around in downtown Denver during one of Jon’s birthday celebrations. There was even a time or two when he got me in trouble during our, um, wilder days, and rightfully so, but trust me when I say I wanted to wring his little neck at the time.
He brought Holly home to meet the family during Christmas of 2007. They walked through the door, he was as proud as could be with Holly on his arm. By the end of that visit, I looked at Jon and announced, “That’s her. She’s the one.” They were young and I wasn’t suggesting they jump into marriage that year or any time soon for that matter, but she brought out a tenderness and softness in Brock that I hadn’t seen in some time. It was quite obvious how much he adored her.
On Friday he and Holly are exchanging vows in the Colorado mountains, in the very town that they met and fell in love. I’m sure it’ll be a memorable day, and my prayer is that they’ll grow and change together in the years to come. That they’ll remain strong in their commitment to making their marriage work, that they’ll continue to be best friends.
Now if only I can wrap my head around the fact that the 13-year-old boy I first met is actually going to be a husband.