Writingbolt's Creation

*****

I’m not quite sure how to start this piece. But, I’ll get right to the point. I have a brother who has been more trouble than good in my life and continues to haunt me. [A recent dream and mishap have lit a match to write this.] While I feel sufficient reason to distance myself (if not just forget him), certain “tender ties” remain a concern; even the Golden Rule has tapped me on the shoulder and told me to be more forgiving.

From the dawn of my time (in this life, anyway), he was there and looking to cause mischief (not the playful sort). While some siblings might withdraw completely or try to get rid of the new kid in the family, my brother has had a curious way of making me feel wanted as a friend while taking actions that say just the opposite and leave me hurt. I guess that makes him a “frenemy?” You could say he’s the Loki to my Thor…though I don’t exactly see myself as a magic-hammer-wielding muscleman…but if Thor is comparable to Hephaestus, then I could see a similarity in craftsmanship.

Anyway.

As a kid, I looked “up” to him as a mentor and example of how to be “cool.” He KNEW things (or, at least, said he did). He has always been one of those guys, the sort who claim they know everything there is to know about something; and you’d be a fool not to follow him wherever he goes. When, in truth, I feel a fool for listening to anything he has said and wonder how my life might be better without getting involved in his interests.

I chased after him and emulated him until I was punished (by my parents). And, even then, I sulked in punishment, feeling I would miss something important by not being with him and his friends. [Soon after that painful time, I learned the importance of having friends separate from family. I knew, later, I was invading my brother’s “safe space” away from family restrictions. But, if he hadn’t lured me into playing with him, if I had just continued occupying myself with whatever my parents provided…which wasn’t much, at all…I might not have found myself in trouble or feeling deprived.]

I think back to my youth like the Big Bang. I was an enigmatic blob of gas and electricity. Then my brother stuck his finger in the cloud, and BAM! I started taking shape. When most of my family was too busy to give me the time of day (and too quick to tell me everything I wanted to try was too dangerous or out of my range of ability), my brother was there to offer me activity. He was a human activity book. Unfortunately, many of those activities did not help me.

When I started writing this, I felt like the protagonist in that Christmas movie who gets the chance to see what the world would be like if he never existed. On that note…

Without my brother, here’s what I’d be missing:

@ COMIC BOOKS AND THE ENTIRE MARVEL UNIVERSE (and some of the DC Comics universe, as well, though he showed no interest in it)

I probably would know nothing about all the characters upon which chunks of my life have been built. The more time I gave to those comic books, the more I associated myself with those characters. I began to see patterns the way astrologers connect the stars and placements of planets. Without my brother, I might not have “met” Jack Kirby and Stan Lee.

At the time, I thought my brother was sharing his interest. He handed me my first taste of comic books and left me wanting more (like a drug dealer, perhaps). I clasped those first comic books like they were the Dead Sea scrolls, some secret to the universe I had to preserve. I spent a chunk of the first money I ever earned on comic books, hoping to both expand my knowledge and improve my sibling relationship. [But, as we grew older and, slowly, apart, I noticed my brother being more concerned with protecting his comic books as an investment. He cared less and less about what they said and more about what they might be worth in the future. Soon, I was told to keep my hands off his comics, once they were bagged and filed in a cabinet.]

@ STAR WARS, STAR TREK AND DOCTOR WHO

[I’m just going to lump those three together.]

Now, sure, I might have heard enough about them from some other source to take an interest. But, without my brother, I’d probably know less and never would have become obsessed with spaceships, alien creatures, light shows and cool costumes. Who else would have shown me those things? The rest of my family had other, more practical and dated interests (like old TV shows about some dusty polka band and dancers and music that just put me to sleep). Kids at school didn’t talk about this stuff. Maybe one rich kid had Star Wars merchandise. But, there were plenty of other cartoon crazes to pursue. Science fiction was not on their radar.

“The best of times” was when my brother and I would challenge each other to design (draw) cool spaceships. It was during that time that I honed my infant drawing skills. In fact, without my brother’s interests in comic books and science fiction, I would have far fewer concepts to draw/emulate.

At an early age, I was taught the benefit of emulating other artists…even though my efforts left me frustrated and discouraged…and the only support I had was a growing number of people who told me I had talent and wanted a piece of my work. I spent as much time trying to reproduce comic-book images and drawing lessons from books found at the local library as I did drawing things from my own imagination. I’d draw inspiration from the cartoons and other TV shows I used to replace time with family who were too often unavailable or too tired to spend time with me.

[Here’s a little fun fact about my branch of the family. It seems every one of us has tried to do something as well as someone already getting famous and paid for it. But, our efforts almost always come up short and leave us discouraged. And, despite the lesson, we keep finding new “models” to chase. You’d think, eventually, we’d become smart enough to avoid such pursuits.]

@ TRAINS

This isn’t as big of an impact as the previous two, but I probably would have less interest in trains and train travel if my brother didn’t have a toy train and a strong interest in collecting them. It was he who lit a fire in my head which made me take a serious look at the craftsmanship of trains and the little places that appear along a train track.

@ DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS

Now, here’s a subject which will likely sort the kids from the adults. I don’t know who still plays this “old” role-playing game, the original one that required paper and pencil and some sort of booklet that tried to tell a story by having people roll dice and play along; as if a story could become a board game. It spawned a number of video games and, at least, one “copycat” called Dungeon, a board game my family happened to purchase, though it’s clearly something my parents would not approve (if not for my brother’s power of persuasion).

If not for my brother, I might not have taken any interest in a seemingly boundless world of creatures and costumed characters. I might not have been so bold as to page through a number of books about the subject matter, spending countless hours learning about “clerics,” “black pudding” and “yellow mold.” I was taught, at an early age, that there might be something sinister and even deadly about participating in such games. But, that didn’t stop me from studying the creatures and characters. And, none of that would have happened if my brother (and his limited circle of friends) didn’t say or show me some part of the closet craze.

It might very well have been Dungeons and Dragons that sparked my interest in fantasy, in dragons, unicorns, wizards, etc. There was no risky gameplay involved in my imaginative pursuit. I was an artist, not a player. I loved the artwork but hated anything scary or dangerous. In way, the interest has been like playing with fire.

@ LEGOS

If you watch TV, lately, you might have seen a show about some odd pairs of people competing to build amazing things out of the infamous plastic bricks…though not every LEGO is a brick shape. There have been LEGO movies and countless displays of jaw-dropping work, hours upon hours spent turning tiny plastic pieces into giant sculptures of everything you might imagine. [It would seem LEGO has become as dominant as certain other companies seemingly bent on owning every other company.]

All of that conjures reflections of that time in my life when I thought (or, still, think) I could make something as good as someone else did. And, they remind me of a time when my brother and I worked with the most meager supply of “bricks” to build crappy, boxy “simulations” of things we liked. Our LEGO creations did not have curves or figures with wavy hair and accessories. Our accessories were made from antennae and “laser guns.” That’s it.

You might pity or laugh at us, but our “lack” DID cultivate one thing that seems to be increasingly lacking in this world…imagination. More and more, you see “convenience” providing you with everything you might think of (so some would say) to do as you please…or as those who made the things you use would be pleased if you used them. You don’t have to use your brain as much to make something rectangular or pyramidal look like something familiar. But, you may have a more difficult time finding those particular pieces you desire if you become disorganized. And, you might have a more difficult time making decisions, with so many options at your disposal.

LEGO blocks, strangely enough, have become a sort of perpetual metaphor for life and certain parts of my life, in particular. They are both potential for creativity (though a very complex, somewhat backward sort of creativity, using small blocks to build something that would come together easier by simply using larger and/or more functional parts which could be crafted a number of ways) and a source of frustration which created difficulty in…I guess you might call them delicate social interactions. They helped me bond with my brother and, later, a sister. And, if life was more fair, maybe one of them would pair up with me and appear on that current TV show or at any one of the contests that have been held over the years. [But, maybe, LEGO just isn’t the “fame” I need to pursue.]

But, they also became a reason to dislike a classmate of mine who seemed bent on being a “frenemy” (not unlike my brother). This particular classmate was OBSESSED with everything LEGO and would talk at length about the matter, even after I explicitly said I wasn’t listening. All you ever had to do to activate this kid’s “static cling” was to say a single word about something he favored. Poof! There he would be, relentlessly gabbing at your side and salivating like some restless dog. And, the more he voiced his obsession, the less I wanted to be involved with anything LEGO. [I didn’t even want to hear those waffle commercials in which someone always says, “LEGGO OF MY EGGO.”] LEGO became the fungus that kid was carrying on his skin; and I did everything I could to stay clean.

END OF LIST

….That’s a rather short list. Yep. That’s about it. Because, after a certain age, the concepts that bound us together started to fall apart. Soon enough, I found myself in a very scary, unpleasant place and frame of mind. And, as I clawed my way out of “the pit of doom,” I found myself liking less and less about my brother and his ongoing pursuit of questionable interests. I no longer tried to emulate him and did everything I could to steer clear of him, in case I went down with his ship. Yet, I couldn’t rid myself of the “stains” I had already acquired; certain elements of those past interests had become woven into my tapestry…and I couldn’t shake them.

*************

Now, let’s look at what I would have AVOIDED if I had less contact with my brother…

@ THE DESTRUCTION OF MY OWN CHILDHOOD COLLECTIBLES, PARTICULARLY HOT WHEELS CARS

There’s a sort of echoing, rippling lesson in my life that is both informative and vexing…more vexing than informative. It has become a thorn of attention to some hypocritical force of denial stemming from, most likely, my mother’s side of the family. According to this lesson…

A) What works for one person will not work for me, no matter how I try.

B) What someone else can get away with will almost assuredly cause trouble for me.

and

C) If I refuse to partake in something out of concern or fear of failure/trouble, I will be bombarded with groans and negative speech about my cowardice. [If nothing else, my family is adept at laying on heaps of negative, unproductive, discouraging speech.]

[I’ll give you an example of how this “hypocritical force” works in my family. If my mother says you cannot do something (meaning you lack not just the ability but also her approval)–before you can even say you tried–she will do everything she can to stop and/or discourage you. If YOU say you cannot do something (because, now, you have fallen for her discouraging rants and doubt yourself), she will harrass you for being a coward. But, if you say you need money or other resources to do anything, she will bombard you with grief and complaints about the cost of life before she makes any helpful contribution, IF she makes any such contribution (which is never certain). If you tell my mother she should try something, she will reject every prod until SHE decides to feel fit and ready (which could be eons after you said anything). If you say she IS or ISN’T something, anything, she will deny your assessment with such force that you might withdraw your claim and wish you never stepped into the courtroom. And, however this makes sense, she will struggle to laugh at what you find humorous in a comic strip (because she is too obtuse to see the humor) yet laugh at something you find discouraging or shocking.]

The first taste of this lesson might have been my brother’s disrespect and blatant abuse of my precious toy cars. Everyone has their favorite childhood toys. Sometimes, those toys are so rare and precious because you know your parents cannot or will not readily replace them. So, when my brother decided to use my few precious toy cars in some experimental destruction exercise, stuffing them with firecrackers (from his “friends”) to watch them explode and melt, I had sufficient reason to cut ties with my brother…but I didn’t.

As much as my tiny, naive brain might have wanted to take revenge, before it ever found my “voice,” it couldn’t think of anything to satisfy the urge. [This was years before I took revenge on one of my sisters for knocking me off my first bicycle and scarring my knuckles.] But, I DID think I had certain rights to tinker with my brother’s collections. I DID so desperately want to play with his “hazardous” Micronauts toys (which he, himself, damaged carelessly). I DID want to page through his (now bagged) comic books and handle delicate figurines he got from some relative I’ve already forgotten. As the lesson dictates, doing so only got me into trouble. And, there was no court which could justify my decisions; I was a helpless lamb on the wrong side of family law.

[Those poor little metal cars…]

[I could add an item to this list but think I will just lump it under this one.]

As a “side effect” of much childhood trauma from collecting toys (and obsessively watching TV shows that promoted them), I began “toy hunting” as an adult. This created another HUGE rift with my family (as if I had turned my back on religion and spat upon the faith of my parents). And, possibly, it only became a problem because of what happened in my youth. The combination of my brother’s mischief, his prompting of my interest in comic books and certain movies/franchises and my parents’ inability to afford all of the things in which I took interest…might have resulted in my somewhat foolish “need” to invest in toys as an adult. Without those influences, I might have focused on my art skills and more productive interests.

[Yet, without comic books, cartoons and toys, I would not have had many sources of inspiration and would have relying purely on my own imagination. Just imagine how different your world would be if you had no exposure to TV and comic books (if there was no Marvel Entertainment or Lord of the Rings in your life). Maybe I’d craft my own fantasy world and spark my own fan craze.]

[Tell me if you know this to be true. If you had plenty of toys as a kid and plenty of happy experiences with family, did you still feel compelled to collect toys as an adult?]

@ MY DISLIKE OF TOMATOES (WHICH, NOT UNTIL 2004, WAS “DISGUST”)

One my brother’s infamous pranks took place at a fragile time in my youth when my family prided itself on growing garden tomatoes. I remember eating them like apples…ya know…if my family HAD a tree that produced edible fruit instead of trees that produced countless, useless things that only gave my parents grief and the relentless urge to tidy their yard, labor which took its toll on my parents and made them less friendly during “family time.” I remember loving tomatoes…until my brother tricked me into eating a hot pepper (which he jabbed into one of those tomatoes). The pain my tongue experienced scarred me for many years. Though I retained a growing interest in ketchup, I could not hold or eat a raw/fresh tomato without the urge to vomit. [And, as a kid, I gave into that urge far too often.]

Unlike some kids, including my own mother, I was not a picky eater. I did not revolt at lima or kidney beans. I was definitely…adventurous. I wanted to know the taste of everything (safe to taste). And, during painful times in my youth, I used experimentation with food to tease family and steer thoughts away from my own misery. There were few combinations I could not eat. And, the number only grew from the influence of family and peer pressure.

In 2004, I made a desperate effort to add a valuable footnote to my life’s story. And, returning to my discouraging home after that trip, I was STARVING. I had been exposed to foreign foods, some of which I had never tasted or even dared to try. And, while most of this food was good…in fact, some was VERY good…I couldn’t eat my fill because I was cursed with seasickness. In desperation, I found a familiar restaurant and ordered “the works.” Whatever was on that sandwich, I would eat. And, I did. And, for the first time in a long time, I ate raw tomato. [I feel the urge to cry, just thinking about it.] I recalled that first taste I had as a kid. I was instantly transported back to my youth, sitting on my plump, stumpy legs, holding a plum tomato. And, it was okay. I wasn’t going to puke.

[If you know the recent history of actor Robert Downey, Jr. (circa 2008), you might say that was my sobering Iron-Man moment and one more “link” to those old comic books I prized. Both of our lives were changed by eating a hamburger.]

Now…I STILL won’t bite into a tomato like an apple. But, I can eat tomato chunks in salads and slices on sandwiches (while my family and others persist in pestering me about my obsession with ketchup). That’s more than my more finicky sister can tolerate.

@ A LINGERING CASE OF LOW SELF-ESTEEM FUELED BY DISCOURAGING DIALOGUE ABOUT MY OVERALL APPEARANCE AND BEHAVIOR

This one actually spawned after the following item on this horrible list. As I grew to dislike the very person I tried to emulate, his knack for finding fault with me became increasingly apparent and annoying (to say the least).

Probably, as a kid, I took his criticism as a lesson plan in being cool. I was being taught what to do and what not to do to “fit in” and make friends. Yet, despite my brother’s inconceivable ability to attract “acquaintances,” he did not exactly have a great circle of friends. [‘Great at making “connections” and drawing attention to himself, but lousy at establishing trustworthy relationships.] And, no matter what I did to follow his advice, it did not benefit my life. Instead, I felt like a fool and continued to suffer humiliation.

At the most fragile time of my teens, I shifted from following his advice to being bothered by it. I couldn’t do anything right. My choices, my preferences, were always wrong. I smelled bad. I dressed poorly. I couldn’t comb my hair the right way. [I might as well have been the “dumb” brother of Trump, Jr.] Everything I said and did in public was a mistake…according to him. And, the more I tried to “hang out” with him, the less I felt good about myself.  And, before long, every opportunity to hang out with my brother came with a list of chores I had to complete before I was approved to join him.  If time was too short, I had to put up with his complaints about my appearance.

My brother–well, let’s be honest, my whole family–hasn’t exactly been the sort to stand by me at times when I suffered emotionally and/or mentally. [And, even in some instances when I suffered physically (and, possibly, permanent damage to my body), there has been a lack of support, sympathy, understanding, respect, etc.] Instead, I get more of the “push” to do something before I look back and see my “support” has vanished. [There are no pleasant endings to those “trust exercises” in my family.] Sure, when I’m feeling down, he or another family member might tell me I’m foolish for feeling that way; they might even give me a list of things I could do to take my mind off my “problem.” They might even prod me to do something with them which only makes me feel more uncomfortable. And, if I refuse, I’m called something unpleasant; I’m a hopeless killjoy.

Eventually, I just stopped trying. I refused to go on trips with him, big or small. I rejected his interests; I “poo-pooed” his Star-Wars obsession. I couldn’t take one more night of going to bed with the nagging feeling of being a smelly social outcast. [I’m still a bit of a smelly social outcast. But, I don’t need my brother around to tell me that or make a scene.] And, truth be told, this goes farther than my brother; other members of the family can be just as bad. Thus, I am…rather lonely.

Sure, maybe this one isn’t entirely my brother’s fault. It could very well come from my parents…or their parents…or go back through generations of horrible mentors…and paint my family as something other than the good people I want to believe they are. All those years in school, when other kids thought my family was a bit “snooty,” when I was convinced we were a good lot who didn’t bully or cause trouble, my family just may have been…may be…something I’d rather not respect.

@ THE WORST EXCUSE FOR A CATHOLIC (HIGH) SCHOOL

I won’t go into much detail here. But, the worst time of my life–when I was forced to find my “voice” and nearly died (again)**–happened, essentially, because of my brother’s influence. Before I had any reason to hate him, I bought into reputation and advertised status. I listened to commercials. I was told it was the best “school” in town and convinced myself I had to be there; not just because my brother said it was “cool.”

**Death and I have done this little dance more than once (to make a long story short-er). I’ve had numerous experiences in life that could have killed me. But, for some strange reason, something out of a comic book or movie, I’ve survived.

Adding to the persuasion, I was going through a tough time with friendships, particularly my best female friend, someone I have yet to replace. Peer pressure was driving us apart. I loved her but couldn’t love her the way I wanted because others saw as as incompatible, the jock and the nerd (me).

A part of me thought going to this particular school would help me focus on my education and become a better adult, instead of being tempted to “fool around” with girls and drugs. I thought, later, when I graduated, I’d find more time to focus on HER, when I had a diploma and a satisfactory career. I thought I’d still find time for her…just not as much as I had THEN, when it seemed the more time I had with her, the more people pestered us like sassy crows. And, that may have been a huge mistake.

I am still not entirely sure…but her decision to date a “frenemy” of mine and say we would “just be friends” might have happened AFTER I made my decision to go to that ridiculously expensive school. If so…if that’s why she said what she did “in the end,” I would just crumble and cry, right now…and not know when I’d stop. Even all these years later, though I know, now, she has married and has, at least, one child, I still have this tiny little dream of her and I, as a couple, starting a family and traveling the world together.

She and the “frenemy” (who was once my first “best friend”) went to different high schools yet managed to date briefly. After that failed relationship, I lost touch with her and her best friend, someone I thought might become more than a friend for a time until she, too, made a lousy school selection and I no longer wanted to be associated with (that place) her. Ironically, shortly before graduation, I ran into the “frenemy,” again; we barely spoke, and–clearly–there was no trace of the friendship we once had.

Surprisingly, the benefits I thought would come from one (lousy) school choice never materialized. It was all a sinister façade. The education wasn’t worth the price. Drugs, bullying and violence were as much a part of that pompous “castle” as they were at every other school. And, for the first time in my life, I encountered what I viewed as true evil.

As I did everything I could to purge my life of that horrible time, my family rejected my behavior and became opponents to my desperate need for emotional and mental security. Others were “signing up for more” and thus becoming people I felt a need to avoid. At that time, all the good in my life seemed to be slipping away like sands in one half of an hourglass. [And, whoever or whatever was reaping the remains remained a mystery.]

AND, BREATHE…

If that’s not enough reason to distance myself from my brother, I don’t know what else I could say to convince you.

Forgive and forget…some might say. Sure; if it were that easy. But, like I just said, my own family became my opponents. Everything I think sound to wiping the slate clean…they think foolish and waste plenty of our time together arguing against. There is no happy compromise.

So, here I sit, typing out my thoughts, one more time, sulking like a sot at some smoky bar, sitting in a dark, dank corner, reluctant to finish my souring drink. And, I think of recent events. Every time this brother of mine crosses my path, something bad seems to happen…more often to himself than me.

As if throwing me back to my youth, a LEGO project I remotely prided myself for completing, using that same old limited supply of “bricks” we kids had, preserved by the same parents who keep pressuring me to get rid of stuff I still treasure while hoarding their own “monsters,” was hastily destroyed by my brother’s foolishness and one clumsy nephew. Having grown a thick skin over many years of disappointment and that old clash I had with the “LEGO kid,” I did my best to “shrug it off” but would be lying if I didn’t feel some remorse for the time spent assembling that theater.

Why was my creation destroyed? Because my brother thought I was being selfish by not sharing those LEGO blocks with our nephews…who could have “made do” with a supply of unused blocks or gone home to fetch some from their already HUGE supply. And, like I said, a clumsy nephew…took a spill, and there went my hard work, scattered across the floor as if it was worth nothing.

[Grow up, man! They’re just plastic toy blocks!]

[Sure. Grow up and give in to demanding children with their own lack of emotional support, discipline and participation from family (other than my own contributions). Cater to their every whim without any concern for what might be an alternative, better solution…and sacrifice everything I build.]

Other mishaps include car crashes (not mine), health scares and other property damage which could probably have been avoided with better judgement, less haste and far less negative dialogue among family. But, all seem to have some link to that brother who is looking more and more like a black cat while I feel like the black sheep of the family.

Am I…

Is all of my suffering stemming from contact with my family?

Is it just this one brother that’s causing my (family’s) troubles? Is it because, in a number of ways, he and I are polar opposites? Even astrology seems to point at how we clash.

And, while some might say it’s wise to put as much distance as I can between me and these “negative” people/influences, understand…this is my family. I would like to think all would better if I had a good circle of friends and only had to see my family on rare occasions, but I cannot say that. I don’t have those friends. Similar to one of my first clashes with Death, I am sitting at the bottom of a pool, submerged in family time. It’s one of those situations in which you’d rather be somewhere else but not alone. You’ll…put up with lousy company because you think the alternative will only make you more miserable (or take action you’d later regret, if you’re still alive to regret it).

There’s an old saying…

Misery loves company.

I just didn’t know, as a kid…nor do I wish to think that way now…

That my own family, the Hypocrites, might actually be a branch of the Misery family.