Last weekend was Homecoming at Canyon High School and I did something I haven't done in over 30 years: I spent a night with the Bellah brothers.

We've all been told not to judge a book by its cover, but in real life most of us do.

Wordsworth said that the child is father of the man, something that I see clearly in my brother Craig.

Last weekend was Homecoming at Canyon High School and I did something I haven't done in over 30 years: I spent a night with the Bellah brothers.

Oh, I've been with my older brothers, Bob and Craig, plenty of times since high school, but we've never just hung out together, never talked deeply with each other; always distracted by our busy schedules and busy raising our families, our communication has not moved beyond those traditionally safe topics of sports, politics, and weather.

Last Friday was different. Perhaps it started when we stood together at the football game singing the Canyon High Alma Mater--that's right, singing every word of "Our Hearts Are Filled with Gladness and Pride in Canyon High" while a new generation of parents looked on in shock that one, some adults actually knew the words to the school song, and, two, that these people would actually sing them out loud.

Yes, perhaps it was the nostalgia we felt at the game that prompted a subsequent exchange that lasted well into the night and included the kind of conversation that grown men, especially brothers, rarely have with one another. Whatever the cause, I'm glad we talked, and even gladder for what I learned.

We've all been told not to judge a book by its cover, but in real life most of us do. We tend to trust outward appearances. We think that the front others present to us is, in fact, reality.

The front my older brother Bob presented during my childhood years was the typical oldest child, surrogate dad image. Six years my senior, Bob (we still call him "Bobby," but he doesn't like it) was the disciplinarian when mom and dad were away. I thought he enjoyed it. It turns out Bob resented being cast as the heir apparent to the family name, perhaps partly because of the wedge it drove between him and his little brothers.

What I saw last week that I didn't see 30 years ago was a compassionate and protective big brother who really cared about his siblings. (I should have noticed it then. Included in our family lore is the story of how I was run over at age two by an elderly driver who never knew he hit me. I was OK, but the driver was pursued and pummeled by 8-year-old Bobby, running and throwing rocks at the car that ran over his little brother.)

Wordsworth said that the child is father of the man, something that I see clearly in my brother Craig. Just two years older than me, Craig was the winsome one in the family. He could charm them all: parents, grandparents, girls, even strangers. When organizations such as little league or boy scouts raised funds by selling things door-to-door, Craig always sold the most.

As an adult Craig continued his winning ways, selling everything from cars, to stocks (most of his career), to the Gospel (he spent some years as an evangelist). And, even though he had to retire a few years ago because of a disability, Craig is still at his best when involved in causes that call on his natural ability to persuade others.

So, as older brothers inevitably do, my brothers are still teaching me, showing me that outward appearances can be misleading, that we are happiest and most successful with what we do best, and that candid conversation, even among grown men, is still possible.