" You may tire of me as our December sun is setting because I'm not who I used to be No longer easy on the eyes but these wrinkles masterfully disguise The youthful boy below who turned your way and saw Something he was not looking for: both a beginning and an end But now he lives inside someone he does not recognize When he catches his reflection on accident
On the back of a motor bike With your arms outstretched trying to take flight Leaving everything behind But even at our swiftest speed we couldn't break from the concrete In the city where we still reside. And I have learned that even landlocked lovers yearn for the sea like navy men Cause now we say goodnight from our own separate sides Like brothers on a hotel bed ." -Death Cab for Cutie
You may tire of me as our December sun is setting because I'm not who I used to be No longer easy on the eyes but these wrinkles masterfully disguise The youthful boy below who turned your way and saw Something he was not looking for: both a beginning and an end But now he lives inside someone he does not recognize When he catches his reflection on accident
On the back of a motor bike With your arms outstretched trying to take flight Leaving everything behind But even at our swiftest speed we couldn't break from the concrete In the city where we still reside. And I have learned that even landlocked lovers yearn for the sea like navy men Cause now we say goodnight from our own separate sides Like brothers on a hotel bed Like brothers on a hotel bed Like brothers on a hotel bed Like brothers on a hotel bed
When I was younger, my brother and I spent one weekend a month at my fathers house. It wasn't court ordered or anything, but I guess my mom saw the importance of my father having some part of our lives. My mom had moved us from a pretty rough section where my father lived, when she left him when I was three. So even though I grew up in a neighborhood of car pools, staying out until the street light, and ditching summer camp with my cousins, my brother and I were born into a neighborhood that was destroyed with violence, boarded up houses, and secrets.
Funny thing about secrets are that they are only uncovered when someone spills the beans. They either die with us, or end up being told too us, destroying it's value. If anyone knows New York, or has at least been near the Tri-state area you will know how the neighborhoods are constructed. My dad lived in one of those apartments that from an unfamiliar eye would look like a house. Basically they are houses that have like 3 decent size apartments in them. Well my dad lived on a street with about 3 of these houses lining the block. It was a pretty neighborhood. My grandma lived in the apartment downstairs, my dad lived in the apartment in the back, and this nice older lady lived in the apartment upstairs. So when we came over to visit, we were basically visiting, my dad, my grandma, my uncles, and neighborhood friends that were always over.
I was use to be the "odd man out". I wouldn't say I was ignored by my fathers side of the family, just that they liked my brother better. My brother looked like my dad, while I was this little girl with the button nose, luminous eyes, and hair no one knew what to do with. (I was called Doll growing up, cause everyone said I remind them on those doll babies. Disturbing, I know). My dad loved me though, my mom said he took me everywhere with him, I was so small that carried me by tucking me under his arms, like a briefcase, and carried me down the street.
When we were over we hung out with he neighborhood kids, I played every form of tag(freeze tag, TV tag, movie tag, regular tag), card games, Red light Green light, baseball, kickball, who could run to the corner and back to the stoop the fastest, and every other outside game. My dad lived next door to a woman and her 2 sons and 1 daughter. The sons names were Jason, Justin and a girl named Candace (we called her Candy). Candace was very nice, I hung out with her most weekends, Jason was in his late teens when I first met him, and was too busy fixing his car and yelling at the kids to stay away from it, for any of us to get to know him. Justin, though was around our age group. He is about 5 years older than Morg, and 7 years older than me. He never said much to me, but he was always at my dads house and my dad said that he was like a brother to us...but at that age I thought everyone was close like family so I didn't realize he meant an actual brother.
Justin has never liked me. I mean seriously. NEVER. Okay so here's my sad memory of my brother:
It was a Sunday afternoon and me and Morg were playing in front of Justins house(because he had this fence we used a base for tag) and I think I had made Morg play jump rope or something. Justin always had the coolest toys, and everyone wanted to go in his house and play them. He also had these cool mask that he bought at the store which I was in love with(you could see them from the window). As me and Morg were playing, Justin opened the window(his room was on the 2nd floor) and yelled out to Morgan. We both turned to see him sticking his head out the window and he started talking to Morg about some cool video game. I was anticipating the invite up, but all I heard was "hey morg do you want to come and play some games", and I kind of got the hint I wasn't invited. The hint was further vilified when Justin came downstairs to open the door, and needless to say, it slammed in my face before I could go in.
Only memory of him. I don't know why that still hurts today.
I just remember dropping my jump rope and running around the corner against a brick wall and preventing myself from crying, even though I wanted to so bad. After about 5 minutes I just returned back to my dads house, and when he asked why I had returned I said "because I got bored playing outside." I know it seems like nothing and I shouldn't be crying right but to a 7 year old that was crushing. Apparently to a 19 year old it is still crushing. From that day forward that's usually how his conversation/relationship/general attitude toward me went. When he had birthday party, I only found out because I had wondered where Morgan and the rest of the neighborhood kids were. I remember him being in his backyard with a table and people having a good time, and before I could be spotted I ran, I ran so fast that I fell and scrapped my knee. And the only person I had to go back to was my dad. I remember sitting on my dads lap in the bathroom while he wiped the blood from my knee and once again I just made up some lie that I was being careless and fell, but I didn't tell him why I was running.
I guess what hurts the most is that we are so much alike. We are both quiet, and considered the smart ones, and if we had a conversation would see how much we are alike in a way. But my whole life he has basically just turned me away. He was accepted into a private school in Washington on full scholarship in High school, and my dad was so excited. The last day he was "home" before leaving, my dad made me and Morg say goodbye, and I swear it was the first time I have ever heard him say my name. I wondered why he couldn't say my name when saying hello, instead of goodbye. It's a big blow to the ego. Cause what you want from people is to know that you matter, and that you exist, and some how in his life I just don't. And maybe I secretly want to, I just want him to acknowledge that I'm not a 7 year old he can just turn away anymore.
After the private school, Jus took some time off. He came back to a place that had remained the same while he changed. And in some way to prove that he was still from the good old neighborhood of blue collar workers and Bruce, he just caught up with the wrong people, yadda yadda yadda bar fight didn't turn out to well yadda yadda yadda he got in serious trouble, that devastated my dad. He was the golden boy, in a way he still is. Morg is the one with the new schemes, a partier, a good kid but not going to be president of any companies in the near future. I am the only girl, the dreamer, the one you can count on. But Justin, he was totally the golden boy, he was talented and handsome and smart, and helped around the neighborhood. People knew that he was going somewhere, he had that air about him. People knew that if he could get out of that neighborhood anyone could, with brains and a good heart.
Even now, as he's near Niagara Falls, my dad speaks to him regularly. He has asked about Morg, and I think my dad says he asks about me only so I don't get hurt by the fact that he doesn't.
Too late.
For reason I care about what he thinks about me, and I wonder what is it about me that he hates. Cause I don't hate him. In a weird odd way, I want him to like me. I want him to care about the little sister that he has.
The fragile little sister, who is still at the stoop awaiting him to invite me in.
You may tire of me as our December sun is setting because I'm not who I used to be No longer easy on the eyes but these wrinkles masterfully disguise The youthful boy below who turned your way and saw Something he was not looking for: both a beginning and an end But now he lives inside someone he does not recognize When he catches his reflection on accidentOn the back of a motor bike With your arms outstretched trying to take flight Leaving everything behind But even at our swiftest speed we couldn't break from the concrete In the city where we still reside. And I have learned that even landlocked lovers yearn for the sea like navy men Cause now we say goodnight from our own separate sides Like brothers on a hotel bed Like brothers on a hotel bed Like brothers on a hotel bed Like brothers on a hotel bed
When I was younger, my brother and I spent one weekend a month at my fathers house. It wasn't court ordered or anything, but I guess my mom saw the importance of my father having some part of our lives. My mom had moved us from a pretty rough section where my father lived, when she left him when I was three. So even though I grew up in a neighborhood of car pools, staying out until the street light, and ditching summer camp with my cousins, my brother and I were born into a neighborhood that was destroyed with violence, boarded up houses, and secrets.
Funny thing about secrets are that they are only uncovered when someone spills the beans. They either die with us, or end up being told too us, destroying it's value. If anyone knows New York, or has at least been near the Tri-state area you will know how the neighborhoods are constructed. My dad lived in one of those apartments that from an unfamiliar eye would look like a house. Basically they are houses that have like 3 decent size apartments in them. Well my dad lived on a street with about 3 of these houses lining the block. It was a pretty neighborhood. My grandma lived in the apartment downstairs, my dad lived in the apartment in the back, and this nice older lady lived in the apartment upstairs. So when we came over to visit, we were basically visiting, my dad, my grandma, my uncles, and neighborhood friends that were always over.
I was use to be the "odd man out". I wouldn't say I was ignored by my fathers side of the family, just that they liked my brother better. My brother looked like my dad, while I was this little girl with the button nose, luminous eyes, and hair no one knew what to do with. (I was called Doll growing up, cause everyone said I remind them on those doll babies. Disturbing, I know). My dad loved me though, my mom said he took me everywhere with him, I was so small that carried me by tucking me under his arms, like a briefcase, and carried me down the street.
When we were over we hung out with he neighborhood kids, I played every form of tag(freeze tag, TV tag, movie tag, regular tag), card games, Red light Green light, baseball, kickball, who could run to the corner and back to the stoop the fastest, and every other outside game. My dad lived next door to a woman and her 2 sons and 1 daughter. The sons names were Jason, Justin and a girl named Candace (we called her Candy). Candace was very nice, I hung out with her most weekends, Jason was in his late teens when I first met him, and was too busy fixing his car and yelling at the kids to stay away from it, for any of us to get to know him. Justin, though was around our age group. He is about 5 years older than Morg, and 7 years older than me. He never said much to me, but he was always at my dads house and my dad said that he was like a brother to us...but at that age I thought everyone was close like family so I didn't realize he meant an actual brother.
Justin has never liked me. I mean seriously. NEVER. Okay so here's my sad memory of my brother:
It was a Sunday afternoon and me and Morg were playing in front of Justins house(because he had this fence we used a base for tag) and I think I had made Morg play jump rope or something. Justin always had the coolest toys, and everyone wanted to go in his house and play them. He also had these cool mask that he bought at the store which I was in love with(you could see them from the window). As me and Morg were playing, Justin opened the window(his room was on the 2nd floor) and yelled out to Morgan. We both turned to see him sticking his head out the window and he started talking to Morg about some cool video game. I was anticipating the invite up, but all I heard was "hey morg do you want to come and play some games", and I kind of got the hint I wasn't invited. The hint was further vilified when Justin came downstairs to open the door, and needless to say, it slammed in my face before I could go in.
Only memory of him. I don't know why that still hurts today.
I just remember dropping my jump rope and running around the corner against a brick wall and preventing myself from crying, even though I wanted to so bad. After about 5 minutes I just returned back to my dads house, and when he asked why I had returned I said "because I got bored playing outside." I know it seems like nothing and I shouldn't be crying right but to a 7 year old that was crushing. Apparently to a 19 year old it is still crushing. From that day forward that's usually how his conversation/relationship/general attitude toward me went. When he had birthday party, I only found out because I had wondered where Morgan and the rest of the neighborhood kids were. I remember him being in his backyard with a table and people having a good time, and before I could be spotted I ran, I ran so fast that I fell and scrapped my knee. And the only person I had to go back to was my dad. I remember sitting on my dads lap in the bathroom while he wiped the blood from my knee and once again I just made up some lie that I was being careless and fell, but I didn't tell him why I was running.
I guess what hurts the most is that we are so much alike. We are both quiet, and considered the smart ones, and if we had a conversation would see how much we are alike in a way. But my whole life he has basically just turned me away. He was accepted into a private school in Washington on full scholarship in High school, and my dad was so excited. The last day he was "home" before leaving, my dad made me and Morg say goodbye, and I swear it was the first time I have ever heard him say my name. I wondered why he couldn't say my name when saying hello, instead of goodbye. It's a big blow to the ego. Cause what you want from people is to know that you matter, and that you exist, and some how in his life I just don't. And maybe I secretly want to, I just want him to acknowledge that I'm not a 7 year old he can just turn away anymore.
After the private school, Jus took some time off. He came back to a place that had remained the same while he changed. And in some way to prove that he was still from the good old neighborhood of blue collar workers and Bruce, he just caught up with the wrong people, yadda yadda yadda bar fight didn't turn out to well yadda yadda yadda he got in serious trouble, that devastated my dad. He was the golden boy, in a way he still is. Morg is the one with the new schemes, a partier, a good kid but not going to be president of any companies in the near future. I am the only girl, the dreamer, the one you can count on. But Justin, he was totally the golden boy, he was talented and handsome and smart, and helped around the neighborhood. People knew that he was going somewhere, he had that air about him. People knew that if he could get out of that neighborhood anyone could, with brains and a good heart.
Even now, as he's near Niagara Falls, my dad speaks to him regularly. He has asked about Morg, and I think my dad says he asks about me only so I don't get hurt by the fact that he doesn't.
Too late.
For reason I care about what he thinks about me, and I wonder what is it about me that he hates. Cause I don't hate him. In a weird odd way, I want him to like me. I want him to care about the little sister that he has.
The fragile little sister, who is still at the stoop awaiting him to invite me in.
4 comments:
iurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr4 (types the kitten).
ah, beckett - this other-brother is missing out - you could be my little sister any day. but really: it says more about him than it does about you, that he refused to let you into his life. i would like to give him a good shake, though, and say: Look what a neato sister you have!
i wonder where near niagara falls he is....maybe i should look him up when i go home, since i'll be in the neighborhood, and smack him upside the head.
i wonder what would happen if you emailed him this blogpost??
I used to feel the same way as you growing up as I was the youngest of three children. My father doated on my two sisters, but I was kind of left to my own devices.
Then my half brother comes along, and I am no longer the baby. Now the attention gets shifted to the baby of the family and once again, I feel left out.
I never really let anyone know that it kind of hurt. I just figured that this is how life goes.
You got to fight for attention, or get used to amusing yourself.
I still try to keep in contact with my father as much as possible, but I still have the feeling that the place I have in his heart isn’t quite as big as the spots for my sisters or half-brother. I guess he always assumed that since I was on my own so much and things always turned out that I was okay and could handle infrequent check-ups.
I know look at everything that goes on in my family, a sister that I'm pretty close to, but can't really tack down for face time, another sister that I just can't really even begin to understand how she keeps involving her in the same crap every time, and ultimately blames my father for it all, and a half-brother who is a distant from my father as humanly possible. It pains me to hear my father regale these stories of unrequited love from my own siblings whenever we speak, and I try to remind him that I'm still trying, but his responses always kind of make me feel as though I'm taken for granted.
Wow, I'm sorry for blogging as opposed to just comments on your blog. I guess I just needed to get it out and your post was the catalyst.
I know it's more or less about my father as opposed to my brother, but the feelings are still the same.
I dont have siblings but I can say I know the feeling you describe. I think everyone does.
I have no brothers or sisters, but I had cousins who were always the "perfect" ones... the prettiest, the smartest, the athletes... and my grandparents doted on them even tho' I was the one that lived with them for two years after my mother died when I was 3. Weird how even as a grown up I can still feel that pain as fresh as if it just happened.
Your brother and father are the ones missing out.
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