Brothers have a special way of relating to one another.

Our culture uses the word brother to describe a close, unbreakable bond of friendship, but somehow we forget that Cain and Abel were brothers too. Sometimes I think God gave us brothers not so much that we would always have someone to watch our back, but so that if we managed to survive growing up together, we would know that nothing could stop us.

I should know. I have three brothers.

My older brother Herb has a notch carved into his ear. That's where our oldest brother, Brian, tied a piece of string around Herb's head and dragged him up the stairs.

I have a scar on the side of my forehead. That's where I ran into the structural support post in the house while I was trying to get away from Herb. (I was 2; Herb was 4.) Our parents were at the hospital having our youngest brother.

Family legend has it that after the ambulance had taken me to the hospital, and the babysitter's mother had restored order, sent the babysitter home, and got my brothers in bed, Brian leaned over in the darkness and whispered to Herb, "You killed David. Mom's gonna be mad."

We all did our best to keep the fun in dysfunctional, but far and away, the most interesting fraternal relationship was the one between Brian and Ward. That's because, as the oldest and youngest brothers in our clan, Brian and Ward developed one of those Abbott-and-Costello routines that can make you a bundle of money if you take it on the road; or, that can lead to homicide so ugly that it would seem like Cain had done nothing worse than to breathe Abel's air on a car trip.

Brian and Ward's exploits are the stuff of legend. We all enjoyed baiting Brian -- well, the three of us did, though I suppose Brian might have a different perspective -- but Ward did it best. If aggravating Brian had been an Olympic sport, Ward would have taken home the gold, the silver and the bronze every single time.

Ward was always Bud Abbott, the calm straight man who not always unintentionally did what he could to drive Lou Costello up the wall. There was the time, for instance, that Brian's pet rabbit had died while he was at school. Ward, angry that he wouldn't be able to visit a friend over the weekend like he had wanted, decided our mom shouldn't be able to break the news gently. He waited until he saw Brian coming up the street from the bus stop, then leaned out the front window and yelled, "Brian! Heroine's DEAD!"

I often relied on Brian's electronics to annoy him. I would reprogram his emergency broadcast scanner when he wasn't around, by pressing buttons at random; or I would set his alarm clock ahead three hours every afternoon for a week while he was at band camp. These were effective in their own way, but Ward always knew how to add the finishing touch. He would post a sign on the door of Brian's bedroom that said "Welcome to Camp Squelch," or imitate Brian's angry growl of Y-O-U, down to the arm raised and bent over his mouth so he we weren't sure if he intended to hit us with his fist or impale us on his elbow.

(Even at the age of 37, Ward still hasn't lost his touch. A few weeks ago he ordered Brian a catalog from a women's clothing company, for no reason other than the company shares Brian's name.)

There came an afternoon one day in eighth grade when Brian was working on some algebra homework at his desk, and Ward thought it would be fun to annoy him. And he did, too. He annoyed Brian right out the window and onto the roof of the porch. And then he shut the window and locked him out there.

Any one of the rest of us would have been content to call it a wrap at that point. Brian would be stuck on porch roof with his algebra until someone took notice of his plight and decided to let him back in, probably some time after dinner. Not Ward, though. He kept going.

Taunts are useless through a plate-glass storm window, but pictures really are worth a thousand words, at least when you're annoying your older brother. Ward made a face at Brian, and when that didn't get a reaction, he made another one. And another, and another, until he'd annoyed Brian's elbow into the window pane.

They had to split the cost for replacing it.

Despite this and many similar adventures, Brian and Ward are on good terms today, just like we expect with brothers. They're in regular contact, and they've got one another's back covered.

Of course, it may help that they live 700 miles apart.