Sunday was my brother’s birthday. For those who don’t know, he’s three years older than me, an inch or two shorter, and a lot more athletic. He’s also my best friend.
When we were kids he was a typical big brother. He would: do mean things to me; play mean tricks on me; force me to do things that were dangerous or I didn’t want to do, before he would consider letting me play with him or his stuff; throw a fit anytime I was anywhere near his room or his stuff (even though I would always let him in my room, and didn’t really care about my stuff); break my bones (see next paragraph for more info). Despite all that, I still (being the younger brother) thought he was cool, and just wanted to hang out with him.
One evening when I was five years old, I was sitting with my brother on the highest part of our back deck (which was in the process of being expanded to surround the above ground pool my dad had recently installed), when he decided he would be able to jump off and not get hurt. I said it was too high, and we would get hurt for sure. He jumped. Two minutes later he was back sitting next to me, telling me how big of a chicken I was for not jumping, when he just proved it was safe. I figured I was too small and I would die, so I refused. Two seconds later I was on the ground screaming at my brother, telling him how much I hated him. My mother, who had been inside (probably enjoying some much needed, rarely available quiet time), heard me shouting and came to tell me to stop. When she saw me laying on the ground she changed her tone from angry mum to somewhat panicked mum. Although my leg was quite badly broken, I had failed to notice the pain because I was so angry at my brother, who had given up trying to convince me to jump and just pushed me off the edge. It wasn’t until I saw the look of horror on my mum’s face that the gravity of the situation set in. An hour later I had a cast from my toes to just past my knee, and got to spend the next six weeks of summer in a wheelchair. Over the next few years we fought constantly.
By the time he started high school, we out right hated each other. He didn’t want anything to do with me, and I had given up all hope on him liking me. He was much bigger than I was then, and would regularly beat the crap out of me or threaten me with a beating if I didn’t let him have his way. By the time I started high school, I was almost the same height as him, but heavier (like I said, he’s more athletic… I’m more fat). One afternoon he tried to give me a beating because I ate a slice of pizza he wanted (I hadn’t done it to piss him off, I had one of two slices, and saved the other for him) , and I decided to throw a punch. It was a lucky shot, landing right in his eye and knocking him on his ass. That was one of the last times we physically fought with each other.
After that it became really weird. My brother was a good kid. He didn’t smoke, didn’t do drugs, got good grades, and tried hard at everything. I liked doing things I wasn’t supposed to, as long as I thought I wouldn’t die or go to jail, partying, and slacking off. I remember thinking that my brother was going to be like my dad – a hard working family man, with a career, and I would most likely never see 30. My brother was aware of my bad habits, and would regularly threaten me with using that info to blackmail me. I tried to avoid him for the most part since neither him nor my parents would have approved of most of the things I was doing, and I was terrified (as I am to this day) of breaking my mum and dads heart. It wasn’t until my brother and his friends started partying regularly that he and I began to get along.
To be more honest, it wasn’t until we started smoking pot together that we could finally tolerate each other. It started with my brother asking me to get some for his friends, then evolved into us regularly sitting around laughing together and having deep conversations about what each of us was doing these days. It wasn’t like we didn’t live together at the time, but we just didn’t talk to each other at all. Neither one of us really knew what the other was like.
Now we are closer than I ever imagined we would be, and I’m glad. I regret that we were enemies for so many years, but I fully understand how it is with older/younger siblings sometimes now. And I’m sure as far as younger siblings go, I was probably about as awful as they come. I am proud he’s my brother, and I still look up to him. He’s a great person, and I love being around him (even though he has tried to kill me).
Happy Birthday X!
