First Memory

I have a brother.  I've alluded to him here, and I've mentioned him here.  One day, when I have more time and some Xanax, I'll go into more detail about him.  Because he drives me crazy.

I was 3 1/2 when he was born.  I don't remember anything before that point, but my first memory is of holding my brother.

He started crying the minute I held him, and I remember my mom saying that he could feel the small hands and he preferred larger ones and that's why he was crying.

Really, Ma?  The *small hands*?  That's what you're going with?

Luckily he got over the small hands thing and we had a pretty good childhood together.  I taught him to write.  We would sit on the couch every afternoon with a Star Wars notebook and I would write letters on the page and make him do the same. 

He didn't end up at Harvard or anything, so I'm not able to claim credit for very much, but I pride myself in the fact that I liked sitting with my brother when we were younger and doing something together that seemed remotely productive.

I also used to dress him in my old clothes and make him prance around the house in a sun dress and a straw hat with me.

The fact that I'm not posting that picture shows how much I care.

He's a quiet one, Marco, so I'm not sure what's always going on in his head.  He was at the house with my dad the night my mom had her attack, and he witnessed the police and paramedics working on her.  He doesn't deal with death and loss the way that my dad and I do, (which would be in the non-stop, no shutty, talk all day and night about the subject way) but I cut him some slack because he saw things that night that I am very grateful for having missed.

I can't always tell him how I feel, and I have a hard time talking about him on my website too.  So, I'll just leave it at that.


1 comment:

Jo said...

You look so devilish in that first photo, like you're telling everyone "don't worry, I won't drop him" with your fingers cross behind your back.