Vicarious; (adj.) to experience a feeling in the imagination through the actions of another person. Also known as watching your brothers play sports. To say it’s a feeling like no other is an understatement. I played softball for almost thirteen years and can remember very few of those games in which I was as emotionally invested as I was for any of my brothers’ play-off games. Watching my younger brothers play is a whirlwind of feelings. There’s definitely a sense of derrivative competition, but there’s also a sense of pride, and sometimes even pain for them.

During my brothers’ games, I can only sit with a very select group of people. I scream, yell and talk under my breath more than I would like most people to ever see. But you need to understand, those are my baby brothers out there. I have seen them throw balls, wrestle each other and make everything a competition since before they could even walk. Nearly every step of their athletic careers has developed before my eyes and I am so proud of all of them. I know how much has been sacrificed, how many failures have been overcome and most importantly, how much pure dedication has been put into their efforts. That just makes my desire for them to succeed even stronger.

I’d like to think that my sometimes tough love is natural. Watching them play, is watching them bring alive all that they have learned and improved upon over the years. But since I’ve been there over the years, I know what they’ve learned, all that they can do and their full potential. Instinctively, I sometimes remind them of this by telling them to run faster, hit harder, or, my friends’ favorite, to just do something.

But it’s okay that any older sibling does this, because when my brother does run faster, or does hit harder, or does actually do something, I will always be yelling, cheering and beaming with pride. When that random mom three rows down on the bleachers says, “Oh, who was that? Who’s number 47?” I always lean down, and very loudly say my brother’s name, because any chance to brag about them a little is nice.

However, just as easily as pride is felt for them, so is pain. When someone scores on my brother in goal, or one of them misses a tackle, or the last play of the game falls into their hands, my heart instantly drops. The worst part is knowing them so well that just by simply watching their initial reaction, whether it be putting his hand on the top of his helmet, or they turn away, you can tell they’re disappointed in themselves. You understand why. They worked on saving that shot one million times at practice – and could 98% of the times, but when it actually happens in a game, that suddenly holds no weight. Even though it’s not you on that field, you are overcome with the frustration, disappointment, sadness and all other feelings of defeat he is experiencing. But, you also know he can rally, which leads you to yell, “Shake it off!”

Personally, the hardest part of those mini moments of failure though is hearing people in the stands around you. They yell “come on!” or “get your head in the game!” and even though it’s justified, I have such an overwhelming feeling to defend my brother, who’s only human, and it’s not fair to judge him for one play when your son isn’t holding up his end of the whole “team-effort” deal either. Again, those are my baby brothers, I will defend them to the grave and it takes all the self-control I have to tame myself when these comments are made.

After the game, when my voice is hoarse, and my knuckles are white from my fists being clenched for four quarters straight to cope with the stress, I get to actually talk to my brothers. But, I don’t need to say much. They know how they did. I could tell them I’m proud of them, but it’s kind of like how you don’t have to tell your siblings you love them every day, even though you obviously do. That’s a cool thing with brothers, there’s just sort of an unspoken connection between you.

Despite all the emotions, their games are one major reason I don’t ever want my brothers to grow up. The older they get, the less games there are, and I cannot explain how much I already miss it when I’m at school, but how much more I will miss it when they’re all done.