4/14/2008: tomboy


Out of all the things I’ve had to deal with with regard to my relationship with my brother, I’m baffled by the absence of emotional pain over it. I know I am sensitive. Overly sensitive. But when it comes to my brother, I feel no pain because we don’t have a good relationship. I would love to know exactly why that is. Was there ever a time I cared? I am sure there was. I just don’t have a specific memory of feeling the loss.

As a little girl, I looked up to my brother. I wanted to have friends like his. I wanted to go where he got to go. I tried to emulate him in everything I did. I remember feeling scared for my brother. I remember sticking up for him many times when he & my Dad or Mom would get into their fights. I liked him so much that I withstood his ‘abuse’ just because it meant I had his attention. He was very mean to me. He was mean on purpose because he knew how much I idolized him and he knew I’d go along with whatever torment he’d come up with for me. Like, for example, when I was maybe 9 or so (him 19) he wanted to take me for a ride in his new Subaru Brat so I get in and he told me to buckle my seat belt and before I got a chance to get out (because this was back in the day when no one wore a seat belt unless you knew for sure that there was a high possibility you were going to wreck) he slammed it in reverse and sped backwards through our front yard and over a steep embankment into a deep drainage gully and kept going until I was screaming and in tears. The whole time my mom watched from inside the house. When he stopped I got out as fast as I could and ran inside and went to my room. When he came in I heard he & my mom laughing. I heard her say with a chuckle that she heard my screaming the whole time from inside the house.

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