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Me and my brother
This thought brought to you by the sentence "baby brother". It's his phrase....
See, I never thought of my brother as "baby". In calendar terms I am 648 days old than Jason. 1 year, 9 and a bit months. In school he was one year behind me. By some theories that meant that I had to look after my younger brother. In practice that wasn't necessary. Jason was always the more agressive, the more physical, the more outgoing of the two of us. If there was an argument it was probably Jason who would be there, sticking up for what he thought needed sticking up for. Me, I like to think I was more easy going. I would more likely walk away from confrontations. I never saw the need to measure myself against others; I knew I was smart and top of the class; I didn't care about physical expression.
Jason claimed that he had to stick for himself because he was living in the shadow as "Stephen's younger brother" and so was expected to be as smart as I was, who had to be top of the class, who had to excel. Eh, he may have thought so at the time, but I never accepted that criticism. Even as a kid I knew that everyone had to measure themselves by their own standards. I wasn't as good at sports as Jason; I couldn't play football as well as he did, or squash, or cricket or many other things... but I didn't care. I didn't even attempt to compete with him in those areas. In that respect I was a disappointment to my Dad; he didn't know how to relate to a smart kid. He much favoured Jason simply because he understood my brother; so Dad became a football ref, and encouraged Jason's sporting endeavours.
I was Mum's favourite, instead. She was the smart one; encouraged reading and maths and school work. These were things I found easy. I excelled at them. Not that Jason was any dumber than me, but he didn't apply himself in the same way. He used the "shadow" excusem and woukd bunk off school, spending time in the woods smoking with his friends rather than being in class. He picked up "street smarts" (well, what passed for street smarts in suburban Canvey Island!) whereas I picked up book learning.
Heh, I remember one time when we had a fight downstairs, with Mum and Dad watching... he would run at me and I would dodge and smack him down, and move away. He'd come back and run at and get smacked down. And... eventually Dad called a halt and sent Jason to his room ('cos he'd started the fight). Dad said that he thought that Jason would have eventually won the fight because no matter how much I knocked him down he'd always get up and keep on coming. I fought smarter, but Jason would never give up. Another time we were outside playing a game and I accidentally banged Jason's head into his friend too hard, and so he started a fight. Again I dodged and fended him off and kept hitting him to the ground, and again he kept getting up and coming back... until Dad saw us outside and called Jason in. Our friend, Gary, told me that I'd won that fight but I was in tears because I never wanted a fight; I didn't understand why Jason never accepted my apology and wanted a fight. Winning something I never wanted wasn't a victory to me; I'd lost because I had to fight Jason.
I don't think I ever did understand why Jason did what he did in those days. All the way through arguing with Dad and leaving home. Today I can sort of understand some of it, but there's a big difference between being 36 and being 16. Maybe Jason just grew up quicker than I did. Heck, I didn't leave home until I was 32.
I remembe being a self-important "know it all" trying to explain to Jason why it was so important to get along with Dad; why he shouldn't be so annoyed when Dad did stuff. I guess I was 17 and he was 15 or 16. He declared that since he was working and pulling in a full time salary that he was then an adult and didn't need my help and would make his own way. I took him at his word, and let him do things his way, including making his own mistakes. It's the biggest respect I can have for a person, that I let them do their own thing even if I think it's wrong. And live with the consequence of those actions.
I followed that resolution for the next two decades; no matter how badly Jason was doing I would not lend him money or work to alleviate his condition; he chose that path, it was his choice, it's what he wanted. Maybe that makes me an arsehole. It can be argued "blood thicker than water" and the rest, but I really felt that Jason chose his own life and any interference from me would damage his pride. If he'd asked then I might have helped... with conditions..., but he never did. Mum and Dad bailed him out a couple of times, but Jason never asked me for help. I don't know if that was his pride, or whether I'd made myself appear too much of an arsehole that he felt he couldn't ask me.
Never, though, have I ever thought of Jason as my "baby brother". He's always been himself; strong, self assured, occaisionally wrong, but always uniquely himself.
See, I never thought of my brother as "baby". In calendar terms I am 648 days old than Jason. 1 year, 9 and a bit months. In school he was one year behind me. By some theories that meant that I had to look after my younger brother. In practice that wasn't necessary. Jason was always the more agressive, the more physical, the more outgoing of the two of us. If there was an argument it was probably Jason who would be there, sticking up for what he thought needed sticking up for. Me, I like to think I was more easy going. I would more likely walk away from confrontations. I never saw the need to measure myself against others; I knew I was smart and top of the class; I didn't care about physical expression.
Jason claimed that he had to stick for himself because he was living in the shadow as "Stephen's younger brother" and so was expected to be as smart as I was, who had to be top of the class, who had to excel. Eh, he may have thought so at the time, but I never accepted that criticism. Even as a kid I knew that everyone had to measure themselves by their own standards. I wasn't as good at sports as Jason; I couldn't play football as well as he did, or squash, or cricket or many other things... but I didn't care. I didn't even attempt to compete with him in those areas. In that respect I was a disappointment to my Dad; he didn't know how to relate to a smart kid. He much favoured Jason simply because he understood my brother; so Dad became a football ref, and encouraged Jason's sporting endeavours.
I was Mum's favourite, instead. She was the smart one; encouraged reading and maths and school work. These were things I found easy. I excelled at them. Not that Jason was any dumber than me, but he didn't apply himself in the same way. He used the "shadow" excusem and woukd bunk off school, spending time in the woods smoking with his friends rather than being in class. He picked up "street smarts" (well, what passed for street smarts in suburban Canvey Island!) whereas I picked up book learning.
Heh, I remember one time when we had a fight downstairs, with Mum and Dad watching... he would run at me and I would dodge and smack him down, and move away. He'd come back and run at and get smacked down. And... eventually Dad called a halt and sent Jason to his room ('cos he'd started the fight). Dad said that he thought that Jason would have eventually won the fight because no matter how much I knocked him down he'd always get up and keep on coming. I fought smarter, but Jason would never give up. Another time we were outside playing a game and I accidentally banged Jason's head into his friend too hard, and so he started a fight. Again I dodged and fended him off and kept hitting him to the ground, and again he kept getting up and coming back... until Dad saw us outside and called Jason in. Our friend, Gary, told me that I'd won that fight but I was in tears because I never wanted a fight; I didn't understand why Jason never accepted my apology and wanted a fight. Winning something I never wanted wasn't a victory to me; I'd lost because I had to fight Jason.
I don't think I ever did understand why Jason did what he did in those days. All the way through arguing with Dad and leaving home. Today I can sort of understand some of it, but there's a big difference between being 36 and being 16. Maybe Jason just grew up quicker than I did. Heck, I didn't leave home until I was 32.
I remembe being a self-important "know it all" trying to explain to Jason why it was so important to get along with Dad; why he shouldn't be so annoyed when Dad did stuff. I guess I was 17 and he was 15 or 16. He declared that since he was working and pulling in a full time salary that he was then an adult and didn't need my help and would make his own way. I took him at his word, and let him do things his way, including making his own mistakes. It's the biggest respect I can have for a person, that I let them do their own thing even if I think it's wrong. And live with the consequence of those actions.
I followed that resolution for the next two decades; no matter how badly Jason was doing I would not lend him money or work to alleviate his condition; he chose that path, it was his choice, it's what he wanted. Maybe that makes me an arsehole. It can be argued "blood thicker than water" and the rest, but I really felt that Jason chose his own life and any interference from me would damage his pride. If he'd asked then I might have helped... with conditions..., but he never did. Mum and Dad bailed him out a couple of times, but Jason never asked me for help. I don't know if that was his pride, or whether I'd made myself appear too much of an arsehole that he felt he couldn't ask me.
Never, though, have I ever thought of Jason as my "baby brother". He's always been himself; strong, self assured, occaisionally wrong, but always uniquely himself.