A narrative of my childhood relationship
“Will you hold this for me?” asked my
older brother, wrapped in a puffy, down coat.
His black and blue backpack hung from his outstretched arms. A thin layer of soft, white crystals, had
been laid down under the moon while we were asleep, hugging the steep driveway. I looked into his dark, brown eyes, gleaming
with excitement under the brim of his beanie, and I took the backpack from his
hand. Without another word, he stepped
out onto the ice with his agile, nine-year old feet, assumed the “snowboarder”
style, and slid down the driveway to the street—leaving me at the top feeling
like a lost kindergartner. I called out
to him, worried he would take off without me—my biggest dread.
 |
The driveway was extremely steep.
Now imagine that with snow on top! |
I was five years old—old enough to be
going to kindergarten. I loved
everything about school from learning to friends to finally being old enough to
go to school with my brother. But amidst
all the glamour that school brings came the realization of how common it was
for siblings to abhor each other. I
watched the interaction between the older boys and younger girls on the school
playground wide-eyed with disbelief—taking the swings from each other, shoving each
other off the monkey bars, and completely ignoring the presence of the other—before
discovering their relationship as siblings.
My ears rang with the letters of “M-Y-O-B” (Mind Your Own Beeswax)
flying from the mouths of brothers and sisters alike before watching the other
stomp off in frustration. Why do they treat each other like that? Are all relationships between siblings
destined to end up that way, including mine? I worried that my brother, known to me in my life
as Goh-goh, would realize how timid I was and treat me like those other
brothers treated their sisters.
Goh-goh was my best friend growing up and
the one who was always there for me. Even
though I was a girl, he never minded my company. We did everything together: jumping on the
trampoline (getting injured sometimes), going on adventures around the house
(our mom never let us venture too far), and exploring the underside of the deck
in our backyard (filled with boulders, rocks and dirt). And now we walked to the school bus stop with
each other’s company. If I didn’t have
the long hair and the wits of a typical girl, I would’ve been an exact standing
replica of my brother; still, my outward appearance didn’t stop me from wanting
to be like him. I wanted to be as cool
as him, I wanted to be as brave and adventurous as him—but I was a shy, timid
girl who was afraid of taking risks.
Nevertheless, I tried my hardest to step in every footprint his long
stride left behind.
I watched his perfect form as he skid down
the driveway, wishing I was as brave and daring as he was. I yearned for the splendid feeling of
accomplishment that would come after I left my zone of comfort. But I couldn’t
allow myself to leave the security I enjoyed.
“Jade, try it! It’s so fun!” my brother called to me while
hiking back up the side of the driveway, his boots thunking on the ground with
every step.
“I can’t. I’m not good enough. I’ll fall,”
my mouth instantly replied. My heart
yearned to just skid down. Why am I so scared? Goh-goh did it and it looked so easy! I should be able to do it too.
“Ok, well I am going to slide down one
more time and then we can go,” my brother said as he neared the top.
“Wait
for me!” screamed my inward desire. It
tugged at my arms, willing my conscience to release me from the fear that held
me captive. My feet would not
budge. I watched my brother longingly once
again as he leaped to a stop inches from the street. My desire yanked on me again: Just try it, why are you so scared, you want
to be like Goh-goh and this is what he does.
Besides, what if he doesn’t come back up and leaves you here? You’re stuck. Slowly, with the inclination to be like my
brother (and to not be left alone), I locked my conscience behind closed doors
and inched my foot out onto the ice-like snow. A glimmer of faith in my ability to skid down
beautifully on my feet twinkled in my mind.
Timidly I shifted my weight onto the foot on the driveway.
Doubt flooded my mind as soon as my
conscience escaped its confinement. Immediately
my brother’s backpack flew out of my hand and I caught a glimpse of the gray, clouded
sky. I turned in an attempt to leap back
to where I safely stood just moments earlier.
Despite my efforts, I blinked and found myself staring at the thin
blanket of snow just inches from my face, my body feeling tender from the
impact. Miraculously, my gloved hands
caught hold of a groove in the snowbank piled next to the driveway and they
clung desperately, not willing to move.
“Goh-goh!
Come help me!” I cried, “I’m going to slip.”
“Just let go and slide down!” he
encouraged.
“I can’t. I’m too scared! Come help me,” I
replied in desperation, feeling humiliated and disappointed in myself. He’s
going to get so sick of me messing up all the time and pretty soon he won’t
care about me anymore.
As I clung to the unstable snow, my mind
flashed back to the summer when I was in this exact situation: relying on my
brother’s help after a failed attempt to follow him.
***
The pebbles were zooming nearer and I
could not stop my shiny kick-scooter in time: the only option was to go through
the pebbles and pray I made it out alive.
Even in my five-year-old mind, I knew the three-inch wheels of my
scooter were no match for the jagged array of pebbles. Sure enough after I skidded a couple inches
into the pebble-zone, lost control of the scooter, and felt the warm liquid
trickling down my knees, tears started flowing.
Despite having been far ahead of me, my brother was immediately at my
side, picked me up, and carried me the length of two houses to our home. He left me with my mom and explained my
predicament.
“I’m going to go get the scooter,” he
said, and went out the door. Thinking he
had resumed his adventures without me, I felt remorse—remorse at my clumsiness
and remorse for missing out on the fun. The
love I felt for my brother was so intense I longed for an eternal friendship. In addition to the stinging pain I felt in my
knee, a nagging pain burned my mind: He
probably thinks I’m stupid and a baby for falling and crying like that. Maybe he won’t want me to play with him
anymore because I am not as good as him and I always get hurt.
Pain consumed my thoughts as my mom
cleaned the fresh skin that was not yet ready for the harsh world. To my surprise, the deafening squeak of the
doorknob burst through my eardrums and my head flipped towards the door; my
brother’s small figure stood, framed against the bright sunlight in the
doorway. Excitement surged through me as
I realized he had returned. Pulling up a
chair next to me, he distracted me while my mom cleaned my knee. Feeling happiness for the compassion my
brother showed me and guilt for depriving him of his time outside, I told him
he didn’t have to stay.
“You can go out and play,” I told him.
“No, I’m going to stay here and be with
you,” he said. I felt like a baby for
skidding on the pebbles and crying. But
all he said with a smile on his face was, “Next time, go around the pebbles
instead of through them.”
***
My thoughts snapped back to the present
when black snow boots appeared in front of my face. His gloved hands grasped my thick,
purple-coated arms, his boots dug down into the snowbank, and he slowly heaved
me up off the steep driveway. Brushing
the snow off my purple coat, he said,
“Let’s go see Mom before we walk to the
bus stop.”
Two minutes later, we found ourselves back
by the driveway—this time, things were a little different.
“We can walk in the snowbank instead of
the driveway where it’s slippery. I’ll
go first and you can walk in my footprints,” offered my brother. I watched as he took his first step—the soft
snow rising up to the top of his boots as they gave way to his weight. Slowly, the snow also rose up to my knees as
I put my feet in the holes his boots had left behind. We continued like this down the street to the
bus stop—me following two steps behind him the whole way with an occasional
leap since his stride was, and always will be, longer than mine.
