My brother- my step brother...wait, my former step brother...
Fuck it. Crazy fucking family issues belong on the the pych chair, not the Internet.
I'll call him "Aa" - he passed a message to me today through our uncles. His uncle is friends with my uncle. And somehow, despite the fact that I only knew him for a brief time when I was very small, he is a very distinct, permanent fixture in my memory.
Fuck it. Crazy fucking family issues belong on the the pych chair, not the Internet.
I'll call him "Aa" - he passed a message to me today through our uncles. His uncle is friends with my uncle. And somehow, despite the fact that I only knew him for a brief time when I was very small, he is a very distinct, permanent fixture in my memory.
In fact, he is the center of both my earliest memories.
One is a few flashes of a snow fort we built in Nashua, New Hampshire. I think I was four. Something bad happened- I think the fort collapsed. Whatever happened, I remember being terrified that he was hurt.
The second memory is my earliest- from when I was about three. It has two parts. The first is a flash of him helping me onto a little pink plastic swing in my front yard. I couldn't seem to get my second leg on it the right way. I can see him running across the grass and me, trying not to cry in frustration. He was smiling and so animated while he showed me how to put my leg on the swing the right way. When he was done with his instruction, he got off the swing, helped me on, and gave me a huge push. The most vivid part of the memory is when I turned around, so proud to show him I was swinging. But he was already running away, satisfied with his Big Brother performance.
I was thrilled to finally be on the swing, but a little sad that he had left. I wanted him to come back and swing with me.
The same could be said right now.
One is a few flashes of a snow fort we built in Nashua, New Hampshire. I think I was four. Something bad happened- I think the fort collapsed. Whatever happened, I remember being terrified that he was hurt.
The second memory is my earliest- from when I was about three. It has two parts. The first is a flash of him helping me onto a little pink plastic swing in my front yard. I couldn't seem to get my second leg on it the right way. I can see him running across the grass and me, trying not to cry in frustration. He was smiling and so animated while he showed me how to put my leg on the swing the right way. When he was done with his instruction, he got off the swing, helped me on, and gave me a huge push. The most vivid part of the memory is when I turned around, so proud to show him I was swinging. But he was already running away, satisfied with his Big Brother performance.
I was thrilled to finally be on the swing, but a little sad that he had left. I wanted him to come back and swing with me.
The same could be said right now.
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