Remembering I Have a Brother!

Earlier this Friday morning, around 1.20AM, yes, very early in the morning, I found the Youtube channel of Trax and was immediately entranced by the style.

Trax productions display the relationship between the main characters in popular movies and television programs. I quickly became immersed, watching those about brother-like relationships.

Why would I tell you this?

Because, and it pains me to say this, I don’t have a close relationship with my own brother. So these videos reminded me of an important fact:

Few know that I have a younger brother.

{Most likely I will not be publishing anything like this ever again. But maybe I will. 2021 is going to be an interesting year.}

I rarely mention him because I left him and our Mother when I was ten to join my Father’s family. Why on earth would I do that? Because Dad offered security, a long-term residence, and at the time I found myself enjoying the company of my step-brothers.

Putting the Sorrow into Sorry

I sincerely apologise for not considering my brother’s needs. We rarely talk anymore, so I cannot imagine what he went through when I didn’t come back from the annual holiday to be with the other parent.

The only thing that makes me cry is realising I don’t know my own brother. It tears me up inside, it literally pains my heart. Realising that he was alone, growing up without a big brother to play, laugh, cry and fight about problems that by now would have been long forgotten – yet would have impacted on the people we became.

Instead I became the older brother to two step-brothers. Yet as newest to the family, I became the youngest brother.

I remember moments of my teenage life living in a shed of a house, helping build a earth-covered home on the Murray river, bathing in the same water I swam in, shooting pipes, enduring a mouse plague, then a rabbit plague, taking my anger out on the windows of a dilapidated car, and I remember forgetting my childhood prior. I remember being the spoon-player in a bush-band, the nights on the road to town-halls to perform, and the eventual end when my step-brothers and I began high-school.

I remember silly, stupid and strange moments from my High School years. I had trouble making friends, so I chose to help and support the students with learning difficulties. It would be many years before I realised why I fitted in so well with them.

I remember surviving six months of my final school year on crutches. Wow, I remember being in two car accidents, amazing school parties yet not fitting in with the social norm’. I slightly remember the few years after High School moving twenty-two times in five years between living alone to returning to spare rooms in my Dad’s house.

I remember my twenties with a smile. I have a grin when I remember meeting and dating many amazing young women, one time two at once (never a good idea, they always find out), the connections with friends who came into my life then dissappeared when I chose to change my personality and wants.

I remember a few years writing poetry whilst I made amazing friends within the Uniting Church. They all believed I found their god, I simply found people that actually cared, who listened, who truly wanted to provide support …. but only so they could instill their beliefs into me. That didn’t last, but it taught me a lot about people. The poetry I still have. I’d like to publish it this year.

But as I turn fifty-two in just a few short days, the few memories of time with my younger brother have resurfaced, filling my heart with ache, with a wish to return to my youth, to the moments we had together. To the marble-playing in street-gutters whilst humid thunderstorms raged overhead. To the time I was hit by a car. To the maths classes where I learned the formula to determine mass of a sphere. To the few times my brother and I played in our large toy-room in Brisbane. The few memories I have of our time together.

I say I probably will, but I would prefer not to, write more about this situation throughout this coming year. I want to write more, but many memories have faded away.

I am not old, but I have developed yet another life – this time on Kangaroo Island with my wife and two young sons – a new job, new friends, and new people whom I consider brothers-in-arms.

Having children has been the greatest gift

Whilst some friends may hear me joke about the pains and horrors of having children, I love them dearly.

I am so glad Sarah and I have moved our family to Kangaroo Island – because my boys get to enjoy the first sixteen years of their life going to the one school, living in a very country environment, and in a solid family.

More often I find myself fascinated, almost jealous, as I watch our two sons grow up, interacting with each other, hating and loving each other over issues I never experienced, talking incessantly, learning new words, and establishing their individuality and character, realising their strengths and weaknesses, and evolving their minds and taste-buds. Children help remind us of our own youth – even if you never had one!

Because I have trouble crying at anything, I show you what does. The videos interspersed helped me find the words to say what needed saying. I miss my little brother. I fear neither of us have the emotional strength to discuss what I did. Maybe he will read this. Maybe I will him, or him me.

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