Birthday party uncovers too much

My niece turned 3 last weekend.

My big bother, ‘er, brother, lives in Virginia, along with his wife, the most wonderful sister-in-law in the world, mainly because she puts up with my brother.

My brother and I are rather close in age. We are 16 months apart and were best friends/bitter enemies throughout our childhood and adolescence. We told each other things we swore to keep secret to the bitter end, well, mostly he did the things he swore me to secrecy about.

My brother, once he was in high school, proved to be a combination of glory seeker/adventurer thriller/occasional moron — in short, he was a teenage boy. Growing up in Palmer, he had lots of opportunity to satisfy his urge for exciting activities that would endanger his life on a daily basis, especially if dad found out.

It came as no surprise to anyone when he joined the Army right out of high school and became one of the most gung-ho soldiers anyone has met. He enjoyed his job, loved the thrill that some of his more adventuresome exploits in the military led him to, and often lauded his experiences in living off the Alaska landscape of his Thoreau-modeled youth as giving him the much needed skills to survive in some of his more rural assignments.

I reflect on all this now because my big bother, ‘er, brother, is now experiencing another kind of adventure, and this is one all his time in Alaska could have never prepared him for: He is the father of two adorable little girls.

Last weekend, he used all of his meritorious military skills and hard-earned survival tactics carved out of him by the U.S. Army to prepare for a 3-year-old’s birthday party. Normally, such a feat would not warrant a column or even a sentence or two of prose, except that with my brother involved, nothing is ever simple.

This is the same guy whose nickname in high school was “Crash” because he totaled four cars in three years as a teenager and he managed to convince my parents that not one accident was his fault, although, to give them credit, they never bought him a single car. He had to buy all those himself. One $400 car after another tends to take a punch out of a teenage boy’s wallet, which might explain why he didn’t date too much.

This is the same kid who had an ambulance pick him up at Palmer High School not once but twice in one year; who “accidentally” lit off a bottle rocket in our parents’ house one night; and who decided, with another friend, to climb Pioneer Peak. On New Year’s Eve. In a blizzard. He not only succeeded in that endeavor, he and the friend who climbed it with him later evinced surprise at discovering, upon signing their names in the log book on the mountain top, that they were the only entries from that entire winter.

Duh.

In the interest of space, I am not even going to list the myriad of others incidents my brother was involved in, but I will state I think he is the only high school senior who signed his recruitment paperwork at 2 a.m. so that his military recruiter would pull his dad’s truck out of the mud hole it was submerged in. My brother was heartily solicited by the Air Force, Marines, Navy and the Army. He went Army because the Army recruiter was the only one with a winch on his truck.

So, when my sister-in-law called me after the party and kept breaking down unto hysterical, gasping giggles, I knew something had occurred to make this party memorable.

It turns out, my sister-in-law had sent the party invitations with the time listed on them but my brother had thought the party was later in the day. When he learned the party was occurring an hour earlier than he originally assumed, he went into frantic mode, racing around their house to get some last minute things done. One of those things was lighting the Tiki torches on their deck, and he was in such a hurry he apparently spilled some of the oil needed to light them with on the balcony. He then raced back into the house and jumped into the shower.

You know where this is going, don’t you?

Sure enough, my sister-in-law glanced outside a few minutes later and started to scream because their deck was now on fire. She found my brother in the shower and told him frantically about the fire. My brother, naked as jay bird, raced outside and observed the flames on their deck. He tossed open a coolr intended for the party and started opening 8-ounce water bottles one at a time and frantically throwing them on the flames.

I did mention he was buck naked while doing this? My sister-in-law told me she intended to help, but she couldn’t stop giggling. Now, fire is no laughing matter, but this was a relatively small one as conflagrations go, and it was extinguished quickly. By my naked brother. Using water bottles. And the party happened later without a hitch

It’s funny, but when I talked to my brother later that afternoon about the party, he told me about the bounce house he’d rented, all the little children present and the mound of gifts his daughter had received. He completely left out the naked fire fighting water bottle part.

I know he reads this column online, so I didn’t want him to think I hadn’t found out. I just wanted everyone who has ever thought about joining the military to realize that, in becoming a service member, you really will find yourselves in situations you could have never imagined and your little sister will probably find out about them.

Just remember to keep a towel close by when you take a shower. For the sake of the neighbors.

Tiffany Horvath is the mother of two and the stepmother of one. Her husband, Drew, was deployed to Iraq and returned home in December. She writes every Sunday abut life at home as a wife and mother.