Brotherly Love

I grew up in a different time. A time when older siblings were left in charge while parents were working or out shopping. My brother used his moments of power to exert his dominion over me. I suffered plenty of physical and mental situations.

On top of this, he was allowed to do things that I simply wasn't. Some because he is older, and others because he was a boy. He got away with everything in my eyes, and I was made to suffer through it. When I complained, I was told that life was unfair.

Harsh? Maybe.

PLAYING DEAD

Though many of my brother's offensives were tattle-worthy, I was coerced into holding my tongue. My big brother was very creative in a dark sense. When I finally would break down and threaten to tell our parents about how he was treating me, he threw himself into a wall.

Banging his head off the wall, he'd fall to the floor pretending to be dead. Was there blood? I don't fully recall. I do remember being out of my mind with grief. How was I going to explain this to my parents? What was I to do without him there?

I fell to my knees and draped myself over his body, pleading with the heavens above to bring him back. I promised: "If you let him be okay, I will not tell on him."

Suddenly, he opened his eyes.

I fell for this for far too long, but I did fall for it, and each time, I was stricken with grief and flooded with overwhelming emotions.

ENTERENCE DENID

When things got too intense, I would run upstairs to my room and hide. With my back to the door, I used every ounce of my weight to help keep the beast pounding on the other side of the door out.

Terror fled through my body in the form of shivers as I prayed to make it out of this unharmed. My body bounced off the cool wood of the white door as he beat his fists on the barrier between us.

One day, it suddenly became very quiet. I thought it was over when banging continued beside me. My brother's room was next to mine. Unable to break through my door, he felt a new strategy would help him achieve his goal. He went into his room and started kicking and breaking the wall.

Though he didn't fully make it through, he did leave a hole in the wall. My mother covered up to save him a talking to from our father. To me, this meant he had all the luck.

MY CLAIM TO VICTORY

Not many times did I succeed in beating my brother growing up. If I won at video games, he told me he let me win and made me mad when we played again. And I would lose. When I beat him in a card game while on a family vacation, and my mom went to take a picture of it, he held his cards over mine to hide my win.

But there was a time when I won, where I succeeded in getting one over on him. I don't remember all the circumstances. But I recall my brother sitting on the floor beside his closet. A closet with metal doors on a sliding track. I could feel it build up inside me when I watched him there on the floor how I wanted to take him down. And I did.

Pushing on the closet door, I slammed it shut with his finger inside. I felt justified when his finger popped. To this day, his one finger has a bump on it. Evidence of my victory.

My brother knocking his head off the wall and pretending to be dead until I promised not to tell on him gave me something many other kids didn't have. It showed me how creative one could be when forced with their own destruction. I wonder if this helped lean me toward the dark side. One may never truly know. But one thing is certain: Having an older brother changed me in countless ways. So, thanks, bro, for starting my path to darkness. I owe you one.