I used to enjoy msking my youngest brother cry. I can remember the
pause, the moment when it was happening
the moment the game changed and I was king of the hill....Hard to remain king of the hill for long in a family of five brothers and sisters, the numbers alone meant endless fighting. I cant remember today exactly “what we were fighting for” was there a purpose? Being the second oldess there were many advantages, I wasn’t smart enough yet, to see how I continued the cycle.
I used to enjoy making my youngest brother cry, and I think he was crying the tears I was not allow t shed being the second oldest. Besides for the oldest, I definitely stand-ed a chance to be the “king of the hill” in my fathers eyes, aside from my oldest who always stood a few inches taller...and picked on, well he made the rules. Endless tourture, it was definitely a competition and what were we competing for. Our mothers love, our fathers attention. I wonder how much I might have just been competing for this moment. The chance to be on the eve of my 18th birthday and one foot out the door, a successful man ready to open new doors of opportunity, creation and change and to become an evolving part of a college and community .
I used to enjoy picking on my youngest brother. Growing up in a family of nine, five brothers, a sister,a mom and a dad and always someone who my mom took in to live, they didn’t do the job they got free rent for, but always made sure they held a few of my strings. I learned quickly how to sneakily pick on my brothers and not get in trouble either. I knew when mom had someone in the kitchen with coffee, or when yolanda was in the basement doing the laundry. The perfect times to plan my torture and fill up the water guns, per see. Did I do he same things my older brother did to me? No I had my own way of not necessarily ever being physical, (that was my oldest brothers greatest vice) I enjoyed being silly.....more of a prankster kind of guy. My brother, well he has a cascaded system of instinctively picking on ones younger brother, Sometimes it was a struggle to focus on my school work when chaos ensued in the house. And what was chaos exactly. It was when the children had the rule and got away with what was going on. While my mother seperated us with love,she would say ridiculous things like “I dont have the anger to punish each of you, you are all guilty of bullying eachother in one way or the other.” Maybe my mom juiced the whole system with her love and spirituality, wasn’t working. Gratefully I had a father, then, who stepped in to maintain order, but only in dire situations. The question usually was” let me see where your hurt.” a point to the area , holding back tears usually wasnt enough. You had to come close, walk to the library chair he was sitting in with his laptop, raise your shoot, and hope that the blood was drippin out from under it, like it felt, or like the tears felt that were gonna burst out of your eyes any second.
After 14 solid years of being an Irish Twin, the first born was heading out to boarding school. I was gonna get my own room. And my own room came with my own bathroom and shower. Who was king of the hill now. I detached a bit from the game of seeking out little ones around the house and makign them cry. I am not sure when, the walks out of my own room and into the Den of Chaos became more of a mission to the plaice I was going, like to the kitchen and return to my own room . I am not sure exactly when it started happening that I would actually step in when I was walking passed a my fourth sibling torturing my sixth.. I was helping. Were there some secret powers I the Guest room which became my personal space? With the personal space came some kind of responsibility.
I had more time of my hands, I had more space to be on my own. Behind the closed door of your own room I started to develop my own space and it didnt include the need to continue any cycles, but start my own. I look back and wonder if I was bring groomed for something great and this room of mine was the nest. The sort of cocoon in the house I live. Taken away was my greatest threat. The one who stood over me, 11 months my senior, the one wo shared the same year for gods sake that I was born. An hour away in Princeton. I didn't need to pound my chest King of the Hill .
The next year my father left the house and I was thrust into a position of responsibility. I walked out of my room now to help catch water when the roof leaked, the bucket brigade. And the roof leaked often. I walked across the hall to counsel my little sister. I listened to her conflicts with her other 11 year old friends and I remembered 4th grade. Mr Frey's class. I felt things were falling quickly onto my shoulders or where they available for the taking and I was reaching out and into a new kinda role. The cycle was definitely changing........
the moment the game changed and I was king of the hill....Hard to remain king of the hill for long in a family of five brothers and sisters, the numbers alone meant endless fighting. I cant remember today exactly “what we were fighting for” was there a purpose? Being the second oldess there were many advantages, I wasn’t smart enough yet, to see how I continued the cycle.
I used to enjoy making my youngest brother cry, and I think he was crying the tears I was not allow t shed being the second oldest. Besides for the oldest, I definitely stand-ed a chance to be the “king of the hill” in my fathers eyes, aside from my oldest who always stood a few inches taller...and picked on, well he made the rules. Endless tourture, it was definitely a competition and what were we competing for. Our mothers love, our fathers attention. I wonder how much I might have just been competing for this moment. The chance to be on the eve of my 18th birthday and one foot out the door, a successful man ready to open new doors of opportunity, creation and change and to become an evolving part of a college and community .
I used to enjoy picking on my youngest brother. Growing up in a family of nine, five brothers, a sister,a mom and a dad and always someone who my mom took in to live, they didn’t do the job they got free rent for, but always made sure they held a few of my strings. I learned quickly how to sneakily pick on my brothers and not get in trouble either. I knew when mom had someone in the kitchen with coffee, or when yolanda was in the basement doing the laundry. The perfect times to plan my torture and fill up the water guns, per see. Did I do he same things my older brother did to me? No I had my own way of not necessarily ever being physical, (that was my oldest brothers greatest vice) I enjoyed being silly.....more of a prankster kind of guy. My brother, well he has a cascaded system of instinctively picking on ones younger brother, Sometimes it was a struggle to focus on my school work when chaos ensued in the house. And what was chaos exactly. It was when the children had the rule and got away with what was going on. While my mother seperated us with love,she would say ridiculous things like “I dont have the anger to punish each of you, you are all guilty of bullying eachother in one way or the other.” Maybe my mom juiced the whole system with her love and spirituality, wasn’t working. Gratefully I had a father, then, who stepped in to maintain order, but only in dire situations. The question usually was” let me see where your hurt.” a point to the area , holding back tears usually wasnt enough. You had to come close, walk to the library chair he was sitting in with his laptop, raise your shoot, and hope that the blood was drippin out from under it, like it felt, or like the tears felt that were gonna burst out of your eyes any second.
After 14 solid years of being an Irish Twin, the first born was heading out to boarding school. I was gonna get my own room. And my own room came with my own bathroom and shower. Who was king of the hill now. I detached a bit from the game of seeking out little ones around the house and makign them cry. I am not sure when, the walks out of my own room and into the Den of Chaos became more of a mission to the plaice I was going, like to the kitchen and return to my own room . I am not sure exactly when it started happening that I would actually step in when I was walking passed a my fourth sibling torturing my sixth.. I was helping. Were there some secret powers I the Guest room which became my personal space? With the personal space came some kind of responsibility.
I had more time of my hands, I had more space to be on my own. Behind the closed door of your own room I started to develop my own space and it didnt include the need to continue any cycles, but start my own. I look back and wonder if I was bring groomed for something great and this room of mine was the nest. The sort of cocoon in the house I live. Taken away was my greatest threat. The one who stood over me, 11 months my senior, the one wo shared the same year for gods sake that I was born. An hour away in Princeton. I didn't need to pound my chest King of the Hill .
The next year my father left the house and I was thrust into a position of responsibility. I walked out of my room now to help catch water when the roof leaked, the bucket brigade. And the roof leaked often. I walked across the hall to counsel my little sister. I listened to her conflicts with her other 11 year old friends and I remembered 4th grade. Mr Frey's class. I felt things were falling quickly onto my shoulders or where they available for the taking and I was reaching out and into a new kinda role. The cycle was definitely changing........
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