Brett Favre's Sister, Brandi Favre, and the QB: A Study in Siblings

Brett and sister Brandi remind me of my kids.

Brandi and Brett Favre have proven something I’ve known all along, but often forget. And in so doing, they’ve manage to remind me of my triplets.

And no. It’s not because one of them is texting pictures of his ding dong to unwilling recipients as the (assumed) retired quarterback has been alleged of doing. And no. It’s not because one of them was recently busted cooking up meth to share with his or her preschool buddies.

Rather, it’s the place in between those two extremes that reminds me of my little guys.

A bad year recently got worse for the Favre family. Scandal and poor play followed Brett’s every move during his most recent and supposedly last season as NFL quarterback. Now, the AP is reporting that his sister Brandi Favre has been arrested at a Mississippi meth lab. The news immediately had me scratching my head with but one question.

How in the world could two children who grew up in the same household turn out so differently? After all, the gap between NFL quarterback and meth manufacturer seems about as wide of one as humanly possible. Especially between siblings.

But then, again, it’s not something I’ve never noticed before. Siblings can, and often do, turn out quite differently. In fact, I have a feeling that when it’s all said and done, the same thing will be said about my three little ones.

Just Monday I was taken aback by how differently my triplets experienced the snow day we all shared together. Since snow is a rarity in my hometown, I decided to blow off the first part of my day to take the family sledding. Jack was the first to go down the steep, icy hill, and, boy oh boy was he ever chomping at the bits. But halfway down, his mood turned, none too pleased by the slushy ice that kept spraying in his face. The ride ended in tears for him. He refused to sled for the rest of the morning.

His brother, Sam, however? Though only 3, I swear I think that had we let him, he would have gone down the monster hill all by himself. While standing up. Backwards. And though Jack couldn’t (or wouldn’t) make his way back up the hill once his only ride had concluded, Sam not only made his way up it, but also ran half of that way to boot.

Their sister? She seemed to split the difference. Though she complained while going down, she always wanted to go again. And though she refused to let me help her up the hill at first, each time she went on to cry for help before even getting a quarter of the way up.

Halfway through our morning, it occurred to me that if Jack were my only toddler, I would have concluded that such an outing was too much for a 3-year-old. If Sam were my only triplet, however, I’d have thought thought that a 3-year-old could tackle something even more robust. And if Kirby were my only little one, I suppose I would have thought that the outing was completely on par with her age.

But every little one is unique, and as such they grow up very differently. I just hope and pray that as my kids grow up, whatever path it is that they wind up taking will be one that stays between the lines.

Though there certainly aren’t any guarantees.

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