It Was the Best of Times, and It Was the Worst of Times

He is only four years my elder. With that in mind, we were the same height by the time I was thirteen. His curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes were in stark contrast to my straight dark brown hair and green eyes. When it came to school people often asked how I could have perfect scores and him be so far behind. I was always the well-behaved, star student, church play participant kind of child. He was always the high-energy, short-fused, lie about where he was going sort of youngster. He is Brandon; he is my older brother who is as opposite to me as day to night. Peculiar isn’t it? How two boys can grow up under the same conditions and still be such polar opposites in the eyes of everyone around us.

Growing up, we were the best of friends despite our differences. We’d spend every afternoon and weekend playing games or working together to conjure up some plan for staying at a friend’s house. So naturally, when we were asked about being so different, we never really knew what to say. Together we always sort of grinned, shrugged our shoulders, and said “I dunno.” The only real difference between my brother and I that we could notice was that I was best at washing the dishes while he was best at rinsing and drying them. Little did we know, the routine of washing the dishes would be changed forever. I was eight and Brandon was twelve. We were washing dishes as usual when my mother called Brandon into the living room and closed the door. I thought nothing of it, he usually got into trouble for mischievous behavior of various sorts. After a long while, he came back to the kitchen teary-eyed, unusual for him, but I asked no questions.

She was sixteen and dating this guy that she really liked. After dating for a while, he began to be abusive. She didn’t mind at first, thinking that it would only last for a bit before she would leave him. Well life doesn’t work that way and she was too scared to leave . . . until he raped her. She was sixteen, pregnant with the child of a monster, and stuck in a one-horse town where your name means everything. On July 27, 1989, my mother gave birth to my brother, Brandon. It made sense now. I looked just like my father and Brandon barely looked like my mother. The differences that other people had noticed became abruptly clear to both of us. Despite the horrible situation my mother was stuck in, she decided to have the child that would be my brother when I was born four years later, and my best friend as a child. My mother once told me, “Son, you can’t be scared of change or what you don’t know because it’s ALWAYS worse to never know what it could be like.” I believe that the best characteristics of a person will be shown at their worst times.