Transcript

I’m Major Jackson and this is The Slowdown.

I have borne witness to some profoundly tender relationships over the years between siblings. I realize how quiet I have been in acknowledging the beauty of those bonds. So, consider today’s episode a shout out, a lifting of siblinghood that avoids traditional predictable codes and stereotypes.

Once, at my wedding, two brothers who are dear friends joined together on the dancefloor to the surprise of many attendees. This was twenty-three years ago, and thus, not a typical sight back then in Western Michigan – two men partnered up like tango dancers, adding to the festivities of laughter and joy. For just half a song, they did a front ocho, a little twirling, a few cross steps, and a dip; that’s it. I could see some older family members stricken by the sight, but mostly others saw it for what it was, a whimsical expression of fraternal love. One of them even wrote a poem about it, called “Slow Dance”: “when he turns to dip me / or I step on his foot because we are both leading, / I know that one of us will die first and the other will suffer.”

My friend Janice travels with her sister every year. They have made it a ritual to visit new countries. No trailing partners, no children nor their spouses — just the two of them. I asked her, don’t you ever tire of the other? Janice said, In a way, we are kids again, discovering the world at the same time.

I’ve taken notice of my friends’ connection with their siblings because of my estrangement from my brother. I once treasured talking to him without guardrails. Those days are gone. When we do connect, it’s not guaranteed the reunion will yield warm memories. The last time, unfortunately, the evening was over before it began, a birthday dinner that never made it to the first course. He was still in the emotional wake of his father’s passing.

I long for the kind of connection in which the boundaries of quiet, shared contemplation move us toward candor and emotional support. Heck, I’d enjoy a simple afternoon at a ballpark with him, or maybe, a shared dance. Today’s poem carries that wistful desire.

Jamboree, Evening, Midsummer
by Austin Araujo

My hands, which kept my eyes safe
from the sun all day, now have little to do.
Fireworks in the festival sky, streamers
trailing a paper dragon’s head. The phone

lights up with my brother’s name.
Two boys run by me, colliding
and orbiting away with ease. A man, perhaps their father,

walks behind them and loses his fingers in their hair.
As I hold the phone to my ear, I stay trained on them,
the one boy looking up, the other staring ahead, 
my brother’s voice not yet breaking

their hold on me. But he’s got some news.
The street’s cut up into stalls for rigged games.
Temporary spotlights buzz. 
Scent of coriander in the grass.

The boys are out of sight. At their age, 
I’d pick goldenrod. I’d forget how to tie my shoes,
so I’d ask my brother. I’d hide
from our parents until he could help me.

"Jamboree, Evening, Midsummer" by Austin Araujo from AT THE PARK ON THE EDGE OF THE COUNTRY © 2025 Austin Araujo. Used by permission of The Ohio State University.