I've hated my brother for about 10 years of my life. That's half my life!
Growing up was really fun and I have more memories with my brother growing up than anyone else in my life. I remember doing really stupid things like peeing in my friend's sandbox and getting in trouble. One time we doubled up on a tricycle. He peddled on the sidewalk tearing-up vehicle as I stood on the the flat bar on the back that connected the rear wheels together. We would go around the neighborhood, pick the prettiest flowers out of everyone's gardens, and then get in trouble for it. One fun thing we would do is ride the laundry basket down the stairs like it was a sled. It broke the inner wall and we got in trouble for it.
My brother has always been a bad influence on me- getting me in trouble and himself. One year after he entered high school at Lincoln Park in Chicago, he got into more trouble. Big Trouble. I was only about 13 or so at the time and schooled at a small Lutheran school. I remember one day I was walking home from my school that was just around the corner and from a distance I saw smoke in the air. One of my classmates was by my house and she yelled to me a block away that my house was on fire. I ran so fast that the one block was like one step. I looked at my burning house. Even the fire in there couldn't burn away a flood of tears. Not just teats, but anger that my brother could do something like this. He was a smoker and careless about where he smoked and disposed of his ashes.
He moved out of the house at 16. Or was he kicked out? It's one of those family stories that gets muffled by the protective voices of ashamed parents and concerned family members. I was glad he was gone. I no longer had to hide my money for fear that he would steal it from me in my sleep. I didn't have to argue with him about what a bad guy he is.
My brother still is a troublemaker, but the difference is that I don't hate him for it anymore. I'm just as concerned as our grandmother or anyone is for him, but I'm glad he accepts who he is and what he is capable of. But the reason I love my brother is he has become a true source of venting as I seek the refuge of people with open minds and life experiences that my friends don't always offer. He's different from them and I'm glad that he's in my life.
Today he saved the day. Yesterday, I found out that the amp I was going to use for a huge concert was unfixable. Frustrated, hopeless, and with no where to turn, I called my party-going, wears-speakers-around-his-neck, crazy-ass, trouble-making brother at midnight.
"Hey Stevo, did I wake you up"
"No man, I was just sleeping," he says in a groggy sarcasticness.
"Well man, I really need a favor..."
"Yo, what's up?"
"Well, I'm organizing this huge concert and my amp blew the other day. I was wondering if you had one I could borrow."
And with certainty that he's my older brother, and as if our relationship of good times and bad ones was behind us and yet existent at that very moment, preunderstood, his words save the day, "Done. I'll get one from my friend and we can pick it up tomorrow."
I am now sitting in my room. Typing this. Listening to Gabe Bondoc on the amp that my brother got me. I love my older bro!
Comments (1)
That's family. This year, I've grown to really appreciate mine.