Chapter 8:

Subcategory: Living with a house full of brothers.

It basically coincides with misery. Misery is my companion on this journey that is near it’s end. It is a concrete sculpture created by a culture that is founded by mockery, competitiveness, and some sort of wit. When you get to the point where physically pain becomes a tolerant pain, life seems dull in this society of growing men. The next game to play is the psychological one. The one that tears away at eternal strings. They leave a lasting impression on you, one that you can look back on and sort of laugh at and say: ” hey, that scar is from brother number 2 or number 3,” and so on. I’ve always found it a little comical that I prayed so dearly for one brother and ended up receiving three. They all have a certain thing that bothers me. It’s hilarious. I’m sure others might find them decent but the small things add up and boy do they smack you in the face. We know most everything about each other.

As you grow older, you enter a detective game. One that you either play or hide from. You spend your time waiting for the moment for their weakness to be revealed. For the moment you can turn it against them. It’s deadly. I mean it’s not all hate, sometimes you can go too far. Sometimes you can take the game too far and ruin a bond that is seemingly unbreakable. Sometimes you can try to connect but find your self digging a hole. I like to think that if you pull the right chords it’s a classic game of brotherhood, a tradition among ¬†testosterone filled beings. I like to think once I leave for college, I metaphorically pass the torch to the next in line, to defend the belt. To use his wit, to mock his fellow oppressors. I like to believe that it becomes something that when we get older we can share the stories with each other.

Being a brother is difficult though. It’s something that you have to balance. Between the fights, the arguments, the ” who stole the snack I was saving,” to who took my favorite thing, you have to balance with actual ( oh God, here it comes) love. The unbearable fact. Theres the moments where you pretend to like each other to avoid the deadly punishment of the monarchy that resides in the household but that’s different. That’s simple, except there’s always that one brother who doesn’t understand and screws it up for the whole pack. That’s beside the point though. The point is, there’s something there that you should definitely look into. A brotherly bond is something that is difficult but is something that is worth reaching for. It’s difficult to connect. Just like in society there is different people, with different viewpoints, different opinions on things. Even in this confined example their is vastly different people. We’re all vastly inseparable yet separable at the same time. We are a paradox. That’s why I think it’s so difficult. The culprit is the paradox. We are so different yet the blood that runs through mine, or the name I carry, the place I reside in, are the same. You can’t change these facts. We are together. God put us together for a reason.

I’m somewhat conflicted. On my first appeal I would like you to observe that I did attempt to bond with my brothers through my life. I tried so, so hard. One is very silent, on is dramatically loud, one is…something else. I think I’ve gotten better though and I’m sort of proud of it. Of course the glaring hole in my expedition is that I can’t remember their birthdays for life of me but that’s a personal problem that can only be subdued slightly. The major problem was that I could not find any connections. I tried to force it too much. That’s what I’ve learned. To connect you have to have a keen eye, one that can notice the subtleties that you think you could connect with. These connections don’t have to be a prominent quality that you enjoy, they can be as simple as the way they talk, their favorite food, favorite sport. It may sound silly, but I found it to be successful. These are tiny pieces that you can build upon. Of course don’t get your camera out and observe them like their some wildebeest in the wild and forward it to Animal Planet. I’m saying be down to Earth. Go down to their level. My problem was I would always try to take them to my level and that would strain them too far. I’m still working on it. Like the last argument I had with my brother, one that I can’t get out of my mind. This is my brother who is sort of funny (he’s growing on me.) and extremely loud. He also finds it hilarious to mock me by copying whatever I say or do. So I gave of a simple remark: “I sure am phat.” He paused for a moment. I saw a glimmer in his eye. He probably thought this is my chance. He came back with a snickering response, and a small grin. Then he muttered:”You’re Phat.” After I explained the definition, he I suppose, pleaded for ignorance and plotted a plan in his head. Then, after a couple of incoherent statements, he waved the white flag. A tiny victory, that I will bask in for the momentary silence until the next remark to be thrown. Anyways that was a small tangent that I had to get off my chest. Hopefully the observation findings that I’ve posted in this article don’t come off as futile to you. I believe they functional for a life that is relatable to that of mine. I must escape this post now because my dog has just had his bath and has found it to be his best interest in spraying everyone with his cleanliness.

Adieu, my fellow companions.


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