THE sound of a basketball bouncing on the cement woke me up. Brother Kevin is
the best teammate everOutside of my bedroom window was a wonderful sight, a dreamlike scene that brought back a rush of all-star memories.
My brother Kevin was shooting some hoops the other morning under a warm sun and azure sky, the ocean sparkling like a sea of diamonds in the background. Hours earlier, he had been in the snow and sub-freezing temperatures in Chicago.
Kevin is hardly my "little" brother, as he stands 6-foot-7, but he is two years younger. It was just the two of us - my parents correctly figured that they didn't need any more sons or daughters to keep their lives adventurous as they raised us in a blue collar neighborhood on the South Side.
Sports played a huge part of our lives when we were growing up.
In the always-too-short summer, it was baseball of every imaginable variety - from Little League to wiffle ball.
Kevin is a lefty, so naturally he was a first baseman, and a good one. In the fall, my dad really wanted us to play football - so we did, reluctantly, for a year or two.
With the icy blasts of winter came hockey. They used the fire hydrants to flood the same city parks that we had just played baseball on. This was a fun, but rough, form of hockey. Helmets and shin guards were for the kids in the suburbs. We were lucky to have a used set of figure skates and a stick that could be held together with layers of tape.
Naturally, basketball was my brother's best sport. He was a center in high school - yes, boys and girls, we had 6-7 centers back in our day - and he was one of the last guys to walk on at the University of Illinois, where he played for a year.
So many days and nights he would be out there shooting at the hoop on our garage. Kevin could really knock down the free throws, too, often hitting 90 or so out of 100.
He continued playing basketball in the rugged city park leagues for many years, until his knees finally ached too much and his ankles were continually sprained.
Beach and indoor volleyball are his games now - yes, even in Chicago. He lives a long fly ball away from Wrigley Field, yet we are White Sox fans, which is determined by geography and family history in Chicago.
KEVIN is a sports man of principles, however. He boycotted the baseball season the year after the strike and swears he won't pay to see Albert Belle in a White Sox uniform, despite his enormous talent.
He's not that wild about the overpaid NBA players, either, even with the success of the hometown Bulls. The college game is still his favorite, especially the Fighting Illini.
Well, let me slip away from sports for a minute. I admire my brother Kevin as much as anyone in this crazy world. He is one of those quiet guys who goes out there and accomplishes whatever he sets out to do and does, well, the right things in life.
He is a successful young businessman with a nice house that he completely remodeled and a 36-foot cabin cruiser that he virtually lives on every summer - on Lake Michigan, where we both learned to swim and water ski, and appreciate a magnificent body of water.
Kevin had offers but never moved away from Chicago - and he always has a pull-out couch bed for his wandering brother and a seat on the boat to reunite us on the lake that is so special.
Sometimes we don't give enough credit or show the right amount of appreciation for someone like my brother. We're drawn instead to the loud or flashy or bully types.
I know this: He has always been there when I needed him as a brother and a friend. And I love him dearly.
My "little" brother turned 40 on Monday and I'm so glad he was here in Hawaii to celebrate .
Happy birthday, Kevin! Now let's play some one-on-one for a beer.