In between the Good Times
I was 3 years old when my brother was born. I was already jealous. I saw how my mother and grandmother fussed over him and quickly life had changed. I was a little boy unsure of my place. My cousin came along not to long after that. We are 1 year apart in age and he becomes my new best friend. But that still didn’t change the disdain for my new baby brother. Now older, we are not close at all. We’ve both tried to be close at different points in our lives. But still unsuccessful.When we were kids, big wheel riding, and causing trouble was our daily grind... I was the leader in that department. I remember one apartment we lived in had roaches. So I came up with the great idea to attract the roaches by pouring cereal in the corners on the floor and then my brother and I spraying Raid on the cereal to attract and kill the roaches... made sense to me!!. Until mom woke up and saw the new box of cereal she brought us for breakfast poured out all over the floor. She also got really made the time she brought us 1,000 army men... the little green ones... and I used her thread and folded napkins to make parachutes... me and my little brother threw the army men out the window of our 3rd floor apartment building to watch them float to the ground like army paratroopers... Or the time I tried to get my little brother to run away with me because we broker the TV playing "that's my girl" by kissing the TV every time a pretty girl came on the screen. I packed peanut butter and jelly, bread and our bear collection into a red wagon. WE WERE OUT!! I think the click of the door must have woke her up because she caught us in the hallway and ushered us back to the apartment. My brother and I use to fly kites in the school playground across the street from our house until a tornado came (yeah in Philly) and took our kites and sent me and him running for cover. Mom use to give us $2.00 allowance and we would walk 3 blocks down the street to buy penny candy and come home and watch Creature Double Feature and Saturday Karate movies. We moved a lot. So we were instantly each others best friends. When we were in our teens - RUN DMC Rock Box was out and hot. I was RUN and he was DMC. We knew all the words. We use to walk around spitting lyrics all day long. My brother and I fucked up the living room floor playing tops on the floor and wrestling and would challenge anybody on the block to a game of dead man. He was my Receiver (even though he couldn't run) when we played football down on 19th Street and was playing football with the Puerto Rican kids from the neighborhood. He was the "sketchey" Pop Locking B-Boy BLove in my breakdancing group back in the 90's. He was my guitar player in our kids band. My ACE-BOON-KOON!!! I remember we use to plan getaways together like the time we had to scheme on how to get out of the house with the car. I would make him army crawl into mom room to get the car keys so we could go driving around. One time we almost got into a fight with these white girls at a wrestling match... HILARIOUS!! My brother was my karate partner, conspirator; wrestling partner; rap partner; matching jacket wearing dude... teammate... bike riding duo... he was my backpack parties goer... the bad boy sneaking out to go out at night... playing tag in the dark... hiding out from mom when the street lights came on dude. He was the one that helped me hide all the records that I would buy after mom told me to stop buying rap albums. (glad I didn't listen). Mom looked out for us though. On Sundays after dinner she use to take us on rides all around the city. Getting lost cause she ain't know where she was going most of the time. Me and my brother be in the back seat playing punch buggy. Mom use to take use to the airport to watch plains take off and land. We lived in the car. She kept us on the road. North Caroline, Canada, Kansas, Atlanta... we spent a lot of time together as children. I remember when my brother was taking motorcycle lessons to impress a woman and broke his leg. I was the first person he called. He lived at my house for weeks recovering and when he got a little better, I would drive him to work everyday (45 mins one way) and picked him up and brought him back to my house to continue his recovery. We spent time at multiple baby sitters homes (Dot T, Mrs. Sunkit.. the neighbors) but the best was Aunt Barbara house cause there was always a party going on... drinking and dancing. I named my daughter after him and he named his after me.My brother and I aren't friends today. Because somewhere in between the good times, we feel apart. And not just feel apart. but shattered in such away that we probably can never get back to the good times. Somewhere in the BOYS TO MEN series of life, tension built, barriers where established, rules where created and when they were broken, they were broken forever... never to be mended. We established our tribes; built walls and fortress-ed ourselves in... blocking any possibility to reconnect. It wouldn't surprise me to never see him again until probably at our mothers funeral where emotions and tension is already high and the pressures on our pseudo manlyhood walls will burst and force us to dump and spew all types of anger and scorn and resentment and hurt and pain that was created during the wall building ritual. I've seen it way too many times before. Siblings in a full all out brawl at the grave site.FAMILY BOY!!!YOU CAN RUN FROM THEM BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM THEM EITHER. I didn't learn how to be a good brother until I saw good brothers interacting together. I wasn't taught how to be a brother and maybe even a good creditable, fearless leader in his eyes. It's a character flow that I've spent years trying to rectify being built with no blueprint. Learning from the school of hard knocks, which is not the best school to learn from. Yet another story of 2 men in the same sinking boat fighting each other in the rain. Every now and then, I pick up the concept of trying to mend that fence to reestablish that unity and trust. Seeing what we can be and how we can build as a strong family unit. Watching how others have built dynasties for their family... working together... creating generational wealth.... getting all inspired... and I run to pick up the phone to call my brother and share my great revelations... and he won't even answer the phone for me. DAMN!!!So there goes that plan... back on the shelf with all the other incomplete plans for greatness. Shelf starting to look like a wall of defeated hopes and dreams because I can't seem to get the seemingly easiest one to work. So here I am... 50 something... with a full shelf of work to do. Sometimes unmotivated but always read and willing to be tried and tried again. I'm a man and have heard rejection many times in my life. So I'm use to it.But I have found new brothers and they have become family. And like a family of men and brothers... we fight... we don't always agree... we are not always kind... we make mistakes.... But like Psalms 133 says..."How good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unit..." We've learned that every mistake creates and opportunity... to do it over... or help or reestablish and that not every act is out to hurt one another and not every tear is a sign of weakness. Where some of us have established a code of conduct on how we deal with each other and how we communicate, respectfully, and how to build, uplift each other through positiveness and encouragement and enlightenment that, we as MEN, are blessed with. How to use our Man Powers for good and compassionate work in the understanding of Black Man Psychology. We join organizations that help us to be better MEN. We look to connect with other men to learn and grow... spreading the mortar of friendship, relief and brotherly love.I still love my little brother and will always wish him well. And when I think back on our childhood, it is always with the fondness of experiencing my first real friendship and connection with another man.. another brother. For it has truly helped me to appreciate the new brothers that I have met, and hope to meet in my journey through THIS life.
Treow Writer@TreowWriter
