I miss my brother.
Well, I miss the idea of my brother. What I mean by that is that I had a picture of who my brother was based on a child's view (I being that child), and after we had a falling out I had to re-evaluate who he really was, and not my fantasy of who he was.
It all came to a head a few years back when he posted a meme on social media, some crap along the lines of "America, where you're free unless your male, white, Christian, heterosexual, or southern." It still makes me sick to my stomach thinking my own flesh-and-blood posted (and believes) such bullshit. That was the day I decided I couldn't let it slide any more. I confronted him with kid-gloves because I knew what a delicate ego he has; I came at it from the angle of my own experience as a queer and a woman, I reminded him of the person I knew him to be when we were kids (the Protector, MY Protector), and how sad it was for me to see his blindness.
His response to my disappointment/admonishment was clear and concise: He immediately unfriended and blocked both me and my wife, and his fiance' did the same to me. That's been 3 or 4 years ago now, and we have had no contact. This weekend would have been our other brother's daughter's wedding...I had planned to go, and wondered if he showed up if we would have had an altercation, or just ignored one another. Covid-19 has taken care of that at least until next year when she plans to have a public renewal of her vows with her new husband.
When my brother made his choice to turn his back on me rather than confront his own biases, and maybe just maybe become a better person I had to take a serious look at him, and our relationship, and my own bias. And I had to grieve the loss of my brother, and grieve the loss of my fantasy of who my brother was. I had to admit that I tolerated the behavior of a grown man who tries to make himself feel powerful through bluster, and anger, and toxic masculinity because I wanted to see the
red-haired boy who had been my hero.
When I was a youngster he was My Big Brother. He was my protector. He was my idol. When my sister was crazy-from-the-drugs and my parents weren't home it was my brother who kept me safe, and kept me distracted from the terror. When the older boys at school were beating me up it was him, not my parents who was mad and said he'd do something about it. He shot guns, and rode a motorcycle, and went off to the army and got a tattoo; and I wanted to be just like him.
For most of my life I have viewed him from that lens. I glossed over the violence, lack of empathy, the homophobia, misogyny, and the racism because "deep down he has a good heart." I'm ashamed that for so long I lied to myself, I let him slide, I made excuses for the person he really was. It's a bitter pill to swallow.
I miss the red-haired boy who taught me how to shoot, who took me down the the beaver dam to ride the 3-wheeler through the mud, he'd kill the son-of-a-bitch who hurt me. But that person doesn't exist, or if he does, he is so buried in toxicity that he's nothing more than a drop of water in a bucket of dye.
I've been exploring my own personality parts, and there is a protector-part of me that models itself after my brother. Like him, it's full of bluster, and rage, but doesn't accomplish a whole lot. Fortunately it sin't the part that I have let run the show. In confronting him, I had hoped that maybe that red-haired boy would wake up and take the wheel, but no such luck.
I miss that red-haired boy who shot off fire crackers in tuna cans with me, and taught me how to change a carburetor. I miss the red-haired boy who tried to give me a buffer from some of the chaos of our home. I miss the red-haired boy who I thought would grow up to be a hero.
I miss the fantasy brother. But I don't miss the bigot who shamelessly spews racism, or the bully who brags about beating people up in the bar because they look like a "pussy", nor do I miss the man who sees nothing wrong with spouting off about "faggots" to his queer sister. And I don't miss feeling like I have to make excuses for the person that is my brother.
I miss the red-haired boy, but I don't miss my brother.
Well, I miss the idea of my brother. What I mean by that is that I had a picture of who my brother was based on a child's view (I being that child), and after we had a falling out I had to re-evaluate who he really was, and not my fantasy of who he was.
It all came to a head a few years back when he posted a meme on social media, some crap along the lines of "America, where you're free unless your male, white, Christian, heterosexual, or southern." It still makes me sick to my stomach thinking my own flesh-and-blood posted (and believes) such bullshit. That was the day I decided I couldn't let it slide any more. I confronted him with kid-gloves because I knew what a delicate ego he has; I came at it from the angle of my own experience as a queer and a woman, I reminded him of the person I knew him to be when we were kids (the Protector, MY Protector), and how sad it was for me to see his blindness.
His response to my disappointment/admonishment was clear and concise: He immediately unfriended and blocked both me and my wife, and his fiance' did the same to me. That's been 3 or 4 years ago now, and we have had no contact. This weekend would have been our other brother's daughter's wedding...I had planned to go, and wondered if he showed up if we would have had an altercation, or just ignored one another. Covid-19 has taken care of that at least until next year when she plans to have a public renewal of her vows with her new husband.
When my brother made his choice to turn his back on me rather than confront his own biases, and maybe just maybe become a better person I had to take a serious look at him, and our relationship, and my own bias. And I had to grieve the loss of my brother, and grieve the loss of my fantasy of who my brother was. I had to admit that I tolerated the behavior of a grown man who tries to make himself feel powerful through bluster, and anger, and toxic masculinity because I wanted to see the
red-haired boy who had been my hero.
When I was a youngster he was My Big Brother. He was my protector. He was my idol. When my sister was crazy-from-the-drugs and my parents weren't home it was my brother who kept me safe, and kept me distracted from the terror. When the older boys at school were beating me up it was him, not my parents who was mad and said he'd do something about it. He shot guns, and rode a motorcycle, and went off to the army and got a tattoo; and I wanted to be just like him.
For most of my life I have viewed him from that lens. I glossed over the violence, lack of empathy, the homophobia, misogyny, and the racism because "deep down he has a good heart." I'm ashamed that for so long I lied to myself, I let him slide, I made excuses for the person he really was. It's a bitter pill to swallow.
I miss the red-haired boy who taught me how to shoot, who took me down the the beaver dam to ride the 3-wheeler through the mud, he'd kill the son-of-a-bitch who hurt me. But that person doesn't exist, or if he does, he is so buried in toxicity that he's nothing more than a drop of water in a bucket of dye.
I've been exploring my own personality parts, and there is a protector-part of me that models itself after my brother. Like him, it's full of bluster, and rage, but doesn't accomplish a whole lot. Fortunately it sin't the part that I have let run the show. In confronting him, I had hoped that maybe that red-haired boy would wake up and take the wheel, but no such luck.
I miss that red-haired boy who shot off fire crackers in tuna cans with me, and taught me how to change a carburetor. I miss the red-haired boy who tried to give me a buffer from some of the chaos of our home. I miss the red-haired boy who I thought would grow up to be a hero.
I miss the fantasy brother. But I don't miss the bigot who shamelessly spews racism, or the bully who brags about beating people up in the bar because they look like a "pussy", nor do I miss the man who sees nothing wrong with spouting off about "faggots" to his queer sister. And I don't miss feeling like I have to make excuses for the person that is my brother.
I miss the red-haired boy, but I don't miss my brother.
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