Special

I can read minds.

No, actually. I can. Just put me in a room with my twin brother, Andrew, and we can do amazing things. You think I’m lying? Once he said, “Hey, Sammy, you know that thing in the place that we had at that one time? Where is it?” And I knew what he was talking about. People often wonder if we’re just kidding. But it’s true. We’re special. Our mom told us so.

If we can read each other’s minds, you’d think we would have a lot in common. And we do, though not in the traditional sense. I like to act and play music. He likes science and computers. I listen to Coldplay. He listens to Mozart. I read Grisham, King, and Crichton. He reads ‘Dilbert.’ Despite these somewhat superficial differences, however, my brother and I relate with each other on a much deeper, much more intellectual level. For example, be both boast a rather disturbing knowledge on all things Star Trek (thanks, mom). We laugh at jokes that others don’t. Consequently, we also share the same birth date- shocker, I know. We also share a love for finding amusement in the everyday mundane.

For instance, one Saturday night, I was sitting on the couch, getting my weekly dose of Saturday Night Live. Andrew was there, too, and it was obvious by his fidgeting and occasional barrage of napkins-turned-projectiles that he was bored. I, like a good sibling, ignored him.

“Sam, I have an idea.”

“Shhhh…”

“No, like, a great idea.”

Thanking the lords for TiVo, I paused my show and turned to him. “What?”

“I made up a game.” Not needing a response, and before I could interject, he continued. “So, one of us picks a letter, and then in like, a minute, you write down all of the things you can think of that starts with that letter. Whoever has the most wins.”

I laughed: “That’s stupid.” He shrugged. I turned back to the T.V. After a short pause, I sighed, and threw the remote at Andrew. He yelled and ducked. “Find some paper.” I said, “It was a rerun anyways.”

After a couple of minutes, he was set at the kitchen table, and I was on the floor. “Ready?” he asked.

“No. What letter are we doing?”

“Uh, T.”

“Okay.”

“Go!”

Fierce scribbling ensued. Being academically inclined, I wrote, Tome. Turnip. Telepathy. Transcendental. After about thirty seconds had passed, I yelled, “Stop!”

“Okay,” Andrew said, lowering his pen. “Read yours off, and if we have the same word, cross it out.”

“Okay… tome.”

“What?!”

After a minute, it was obvious that he had none of my words. Then it was his turn.

“To.”

“Er, no…” I said, cursing my over-analytical self.

“Too.”

“You just said that.”

“No, like, T-O-O.”

“That’s not fair!”

“It’s a different word.”

“Fine. Next?”

“Two.”

“Andrew!”

“What?”

“Just- keep going.”

“Three.”

“Okay.”

“Thirteen.”

I didn’t say anything; I knew what was coming. After all, I could read his mind.

“Thirty. Three-hundred. Three-thousand. Three-million…”

Now it was my turn to throw napkins.

Needless to say, we woke our parents up with our fighting and laughing that night. Truly, I believe it takes a special sort of person to find something so ordinary amusing… and I believe that my brother and I are the epitome of special. After all, we are telepathic.

And that makes you pretty darn special, I think.

So does trying to make your mark on the world through an online blog.

Oy vey.