Birth order is a fascinating subject. Primogeniture, deciding the royal heir by birth order, has accounted for some of the most interesting, as well as some of the most appalling events in the history of many a nation.

What is it about those precious seconds, minutes, days, weeks, or even years of life that gives one brother such an edge over his younger sibling?

In the case of twins, those first few, almost magical seconds mean everything for the twin that is the luckier, or tougher, or more forward of the two, but for any child, being the older brother confers both rank and status on the holder of the coveted title, "firstborn". His is the choice portion of the birthright; to him belongs the first love of his parents.

Until the interloper, the new baby brother, appears, to him belongs the sole ability to amaze and dazzle his doting parents with his smiles and coos, and his precocious "firsts". To his baby brother falls the lot of "second son". Little he does will ever be first, because chances are high that his older brother already beat him there...

This is the story of two such brothers, much given to sometimes cheerful, sometimes rancorous rivalry, who came together one dark and stormy night to save their household, and to each uphold his honor as protector of his family.

I have heard the story of the terrifying intruder many times. It is part of their oral tradition, a cherished segment of family history, to be told and retold at successive gatherings. Usually told in tandem by the two brothers, with the young ones joining in for their favorite moments, this tale of foreboding and brooding danger is traditionally reserved 'til later in the evening's revelry - or until the bards are sufficiently well-oiled to recall each moment with perfect clarity...at least, that's what they say.

I shall endeavor to retell it for them here as faithfully as I, a mere woman and non-participant, may render the action using their voices...

Lyle: "It was a dark and story night...

Doug: Hey! She said that already...

Lyle: We had been up playing cards, Dad and Mum, Uncle Bart, my younger brother, Doug, and me. Oh, I am Lyle, the older brother, the firstborn, the responsible brother. Doug, had cratered a couple of hours earlier, but then, I always had a harder head for beer than he did.

Doug: Actually, Lyle just plain had a harder head...but anyway, I had been asleep for an hour or two when the rest of the party people decided to call it a night. It seemed like hours before they were finally finished collecting glasses and bottles, and the neighbors stopped saying good bye on the back stoop and finally left. Then the noises of washing up and flushing finally ceased, and I could get back to sleep.

Lyle: Yeah, well Doug was always a bit of a light sleeper. I think he startled easy -

Doug: You would startle easily, too, if your brother dropped a garbage bag full of empties by the head of your bed -

Lyle: Anyway - things had finally quieted down and we all were sawing logs quite industriously...

Doug: Quite industriously -

Lyle: Ahem...I had been asleep for a while when I was jolted awake by a thunderous crash, followed by thumping noises that seemed to be coming from the hallway. I reached for the wall switch but then I thought, "Wait a minute...if it's an intruder, he'll see the light. Maybe I can sneak up on him..."

With that in mind, I slipped silently out of bed and headed down the hallway.

Doug: In the meantime, I, too, had been rudely awakened. On my way to relieve the hydraulic pressure caused by a slight over-consumption of beer, I tripped over a bag of empties that someone had left in the hallway by the bathroom door.

Just as I reached for the bathroom light switch, I heard stealthy footsteps coming towards me from down the hall. For a second I froze.

Then, realizing that if I hid and let him go by I could jump out and nab him from behind, I quietly pulled the bathroom door almost shut, and leaned against it, one eye to the crack.

Suddenly there he was, so close I could have touched him. He was reaching for the doorknob. "I can't let him catch me!" I sucked in a great lungful of air to yell a warning to my folks, and hopefully rouse my still-sleeping brother. "Where is he when a fella really needs him," I remember thinking most uncharitably.

Lyle: Silently, stealthily, I crept down the hallway. I could see his dark shape just ahead of me. Suddenly, he ducked into the bathroom. "Aha! I have him," I thought. "Now, to keep him there while I rouse the household!" I stretched my hand out towards the doorknob so I could trap him inside.

Doug: Just as his hand touched the knob, I slammed the door shut, pulling it tight with all my strength. "AARRRRR!" I screamed fiercely.

Lyle: "AARRRRR!" I screamed as I leaned against the door struggling to hold it shut. Back and forth we jostled the door, me yelling to wake Doug while my captive yelled in fear and tried to escape.

Doug: He tugged at the knob with the strength of a crazy man, bouncing his weight against the door and yelling at the top of his lungs for me to let him in.

Lyle: I could hear shouting, and the sound of feet pounding down the stairs. "They'll never get here in time. Where's Doug - he should be have heard us by now - "

Slamming myself against the door I made one last, desperate attempt to contain him. Suddenly an awful thought flashed through my mind. Maybe Doug hadn't come to my aid because he couldn't? What if the intruder had already dispatched Doug?

Doug: I could hear people running down the stairs, shouting for me and my brother. I had to protect them from this crazy man. I ripped open the door and flew at the dark shape, my teeth bared in a grimace of determination, ready to save my family at any cost.

Lyle: Letting go the doorknob, I tore off my pajama top. The bathroom door flew open and the intruder launched himself straight at me. I caught the gleam of white teeth in the darkness, then he was upon me.

I threw the pajama shirt over his head and wrestled him, still screaming, to the floor. The bag of empties I had stashed by the bathroom door burst open, scattering its contents across the floor, the clanking and clinking of the bottles and cans adding to the already fearful din.

Doug: He threw something over my head, blinding me. I wrapped both arms around him and pulled him to the floor, yelling for someone to help me hold him. Cans and bottles burst form the bag of empties my nitwit elder brother had left near the bathroom door.

Lyle: He struggled like a mad fiend, trying to twist out of my grasp, shouting and flailing at me, jabbing with his elbows while trying to rip away the pajama shirt I still held tightly over his head. Empty cans and bottles flew everywhere.

Doug: I could hear my father and Uncle Bart shouting as we rolled across the floor. I yelled for him to call the police.

Lyle: Suddenly the lights flashed on. Dazzled by the brightness, I let go of the intruder and struggled to my feet with my father's help while Uncle Bart reached for the intruder.

Doug: As my father hauled the intruder off me, I was finally able to rip the smothering folds of cloth from my face to see Uncle Bart bending over me, clutching a baseball bat.

He had such a funny expression on his face.

Lyle: I stared at my dad. He was clutching a tire iron in one hand and staring towards the intruder. I couldn't see the intruder past my uncle - he was a pretty big guy - but my dad began wheezing and slowly crumpled to the floor, his face contorting into an odd grimace as his eyes squeezed shut. I grabbed his arm in consternation, and was horrified to see tears begin to well from under his tightly closed eyelids.

Doug: Uncle Bart sat down 'plop' on the floor like his legs had given out. Dropping the bat, he clutched his chest with one hand and began beating his other fist against his thigh. I lunged to my feet to run for help...

Lyle: By the time Doug and I finally understood that we were the terrifying intruder, both our father and Uncle Bart were, quite literally, rolling on the floor and howling with laughter.

Doug: Gasping for breath, they tried to explain what had befallen us to our mother, who had by this time made her way downstairs to see what ogre had tried to claim her menfolk. She was armed with a corn broom.

Our elders finally retired to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee and further dissect the events of the night, while we were left to pick up the empties. I knew we would hear more of this in the morning.

Lyle: My brother and I bagged up the offending bottles and cans. The clinking of the empties served to somewhat muffle the feminine shreiks of laughter punctuated by the occasional bass guffaw that wafted down from the kitchen. Then, gathering the tattered remnants of our dignity about us, we repaired to our rooms, to try to salvage what was left of a decent night's sleep."

I wish I could tell you that the Doug and Lyle became fast friends from that night onward, but such was not the case. To this day, every once in a while a slight edge of the old rivalry surfaces. Now, though, most of the one-upmanship involves the Great Canasta Championship, or who kicked whose butt at Pictionary last weekend...or, on the occasion of a very special family gathering, the retelling of The Tale of the Terrifying Intruder.