Most people that I know have at least one sibling. Whenever we talk about our families, and siblings in particular, they always seem to have some really cute story to share with me. Maybe there was a time they fell off their bike and their older brother ran up to kiss their knees and tell them they'd be okay. Maybe they were once lost in the city and called their sister and she stayed on the phone with them until they found their way home.
Yeah... I don't have that.
When people ask me for the story that really defines my relationship with my brother, this is what I tell them:
When I was about ten, my then-estranged uncle sent me a birthday card with $20 in it. This was the first and only birthday gift I had ever received from him and I was beyond delighted. I was really quite money-savvy for a child, and I had every intention of spending the money wisely; so I was saving it in my little wallet until I found something worthwhile.
Shortly thereafter, my brother and I got permission from my da to take our bikes on the nearby trail for a short bike ride. My brother then 'persuaded' me into going downtown with him to see what was new in the comic book shop. I put the above in quotes because I was not interested in going downtown because we didn't have permission to go that particular afternoon. He threatened to beat the tar out of me if I didn't go with him. He was a lot bigger than me and I'd already retained some impressive scars from him that summer (incidentally, one of these scars I still bear to this very day). We got to the comic book store and Justin found something he really wanted, but he was broke. Money burned holes in his pockets faster than acid. We headed home in disgrace.
While on the way home, my brother continued to bemoan his lack of funds and subsequent lack of whatever trinket he had wanted to buy. I began to give him a lecture on saving money, which he was not particularly keen to hear. While espousing the virtues of self-control, I made the mistake of stating that I had received some money from my uncle for my birthday. This was the only part of my lengthy monologue my brother actually managed to hear.
Naturally, he then 'persuaded' me into giving him the money. Later, my father would ask me how I had spent the money. Terrified of my brother's wrath, I told Da I had lost it. I was then subjected to a lengthy monologue on the virtues of self-control and spending wisely. No, the irony was not lost on my young mind.
We got home over an hour after we had left to discover my father angrier than we had ever seen him. He was worried sick about where we had gone and had only held off on calling the police because he couldn't remember what we were wearing that day. I was about to explain to my father that we had been downtown and it was all Justin's fault when my brother gave me a Look, very clearly detailing what would happen to me if I tattled. I kept my mouth shut out of mortal fear.
To this very day, my father doesn't know where we were that day or what happened to my birthday money.
And, yes, that son of a bitch still owes me $20.
And, no, nothing has really changed since then.
