Tim: Maybe it'll help me understand what's wrong with my brother. We had a fight and I haven't seen him since.
Wilson: Really? I thought you two got along rather well.
Tim: Oh, we usually do. When my dad died, he was only one, I was 11. Mom went back to work so I took care of him a lot.
Wilson: Hm. That's a lot of responsibility.
Tim: Yeah. It was a lot of good times, too. I taught him how to do all sorts of stuff - hawk a loogie, shoot a spit wad. Boy, no one teaches spitwad shooting better than me.
Wilson: Well, I'm aware of that. Your boys have launched a few wet ones over my way.
Tim: Taught him how to ride his bike, drive his first car.
Wilson: So what you're saying is you were part father, part brother.
Tim: Yeah. Kinda like a "frother."