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by Jeremy,
staff writer |
| DP Columns / Jeremy The Loner |
To My Brother Kevin, Whom I Slept With |
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"Kevin and Jeremy, 1978" |
The incident happened almost thirty years ago, but I
remember it like it was yesterday.
It was 1979, and I was stumbling around on roller
skates at the local rink, Skate Land. My mom had
dropped my brother Kevin and I off so she could spend
a few hours running errands--and no doubt get us out
of her hair for a while. Being only five at the time,
my skating ability left a lot to be desired. I
was struggling just to stay on my feet, and had no
intention whatsoever of joining the maniacs zooming
around the rink. People kept knocking into me as they
skated by, so I wasn't having too much fun. Kevin was
nowhere in sight.
Suddenly, two older boys skated over to me, took one
look at my wobbly legs and busted out laughing. At the
time they seemed huge, but they couldn't have more
than six or seven years old. "What grade are YOU
in?" one of them sneered. "Kindergarten," I
answered meekly. They both started laughing harder, as
if I'd said something ridiculous. After all, only
"babies" went to kindergarten. I was scared to death.
We had only been at Skate Land for about twenty
minutes, and I was already in danger of getting my
kindergarten ass kicked.
But then, seemingly out of nowhere, Kevin appeared. He
skated directly between the three of us, his chest
puffed out and a stern look on his bespectacled face.
If it's possible for an eight year old boy to appear
towering, he towered. The two kids that had been
laughing in my face seconds earlier changed their tune
immediately. "Uh... how's it going?" they
nervously asked him. Kevin never said a word. He just
raised an eyebrow and got directly in their faces. The
point was crystal clear; "Don't fuck with my little
brother." And this point wasn't missed on them,
either, as they immediately skated away.
There is an unspoken bond between brothers, and I
think the Skate Land incident is when I first realized
it. This is the same boy that would probably pummel
the
living hell out of me later on that same day, but that
didn't mean it was okay for someone else to do it.
When you grow up together, you look out for each
other. It's as simple as that. It was true 28 years
ago, and it's still true today.
Because your big brother will always be your big
brother. No matter what.
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"JTL, on the bike his brother taught him to ride." |
"With our beloved Papa, many years ago."
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Kevin and I came from a marriage that never should
have happened in the first place. My parents had met
while they were still teenagers and had gotten married
in 1970, right around the same time they both turned
eighteen. They couldn't have been any more different.
My mom was sensible, level-headed and hard-working.
She still is. My dad was charming, irresponsible and a
bit of a dreamer. He still is, too.
I never really knew much about their courtship,
because it wasn't talked about much. One time I asked
my mother how dad had proposed. Did he get down on one
knee? Did he take her out to a fancy restaurant and
put an engagement ring in her wine glass? My mother's
response was less than enlightening. "Well, she
said, "we just decided to get married." It
wasn't until years later that I figured it out myself;
my parents had gotten married near the middle of 1970.
Kevin was born in January, 1971. Go ahead and do the
math.
I suppose you could give my dad credit for doing the
"honorable" thing by marrying the woman he'd
accidentally knocked up. Not all men would have done
that, not even in those days. But the union was an
obvious mismatch from day one, and although the
marriage would go on to last almost twenty years, they
were doomed from the start.
My parents have been divorced for over seventeen
years, and to hear my mom talk now, the marriage
amounted to little more than a phase she went through
for a couple of decades. But my late Papa Wright saw
it a bit differently. I remember him saying, When
they first got together, Gail wouldn't tolerate
ANYBODY criticizing Mickey." If anyone said
anything negative about him, my mother would defend
him like a rabid dog. So she had really loved him
once. She can say whatever she wants now, but I
believe this to be true.
They didn't have much money, especially in those early
years of the marriage. When Kevin was a baby, they
lived in my grandparent's basement. After I was born a
few years later, the family moved into a rundown
duplex in shacktown. That was all my parents could
afford, as they were barely more than children
themselves. It was in that duplex that I have
my first memories. My brother and I were crammed
together into a tiny bedroom that was much too small
for two growing boys. We had just enough room for our
two beds and a dresser--nothing else. We couldn't even
get into our closet, because we had to keep our bikes
stacked in front of the door. We couldn't leave them
outside in that neighborhood, because they would have
been stolen. But like all innocent kids, we cheerfully
accepted our living situation and the reality that was
presented to us. We had no idea that we were poor,
even with our shabby furniture, second-hand clothes
and the socks we wore over our hands in cold weather
because our parents couldn't afford to buy us mittens.
I think it was hardest on my dad at first, the whole
"family" thing. He had plans on being a rock star when
he was young, using his amazing guitar skills and good
looks to take him to the top. But the next thing he
knew, he had a wife and two kids to worry about.
Family life wasn't a part of his plans, so I think
that maybe he resented us for that. My mother did the
best she could to make a home for us, but he waffled a
bit. He was, after all, still young and naive enough
to believe in his dreams.
Dad's behavior was erratic at times, and he could be
pretty hard on us. One time Kevin and I were sitting
in our tiny bedroom, happily scribbling away in our
coloring books when he burst through the door. "I
told you kids, I don't want you coloring in here!", he shouted. "I don't want you getting crayon marks
all over your sheets!" Even at that tender age, we
both knew his demand was ridiculous. We weren't
getting crayon marks on our sheets, we were just
coloring in our books like any normal kids would. So
after he left, we waited for a few minutes and resumed
coloring. Dad was too smart for us, though. Seconds
later, he stormed back into the room, yelled at us
again and savagely threw our coloring books and
crayons into the trash. I remember how Kevin and I
looked sadly into the waste basket, littered with the
remains of our
books and our broken crayons. Those were the only
coloring books we had.
It's the little things like this that bond two
brothers together for a lifetime. My father was really
cruel to us sometimes, in ways both big and small. And
while I'm sure my dad forgot about this particular
incident ten minutes after it happened, I never would.
But I didn't have to go through the bad times alone,
because I could always lean on my brother for support.
Kevin and I lost our coloring books that day, but at
least we still had each other. We always had each
other. |
"JTL's parents, circa 1978." |
"Jeremy, when he was still cute." |
Things would get better for our family in 1978, the
year we moved into the house I grew up in. It was only
a modest home in a lower/middle class neighborhood,
but to Kevin and me it must have looked like a palace.
Our little shoebox of a room was replaced by a GIANT
room which encompassed the entire second floor of the
house. It was almost toobig as far as I was
concerned,
and the first night we were there I sat crying in my
bed with a night light on because I was too afraid to
sleep. I kept right on crying, too, until Kevin
finally came upstairs and got into the bed next to
mine. When I was a little boy, I always felt safe when
my big brother was around.
Some of my fondest memories of childhood come from
those nights spent with Kevin up in our room. I
remember many a Christmas Eve where we'd stay awake
all night talking, too excited to sleep. My parents
had made a strict edict to NOT wake them up before
8:00am, which was pure torture. Nothing is worse for a
kid than waiting for Christmas to come. I remember one
year when we stayed up playing Electronic Battleship
to pass the time, checking the clock every few
minutes. Just before dawn, my brother talked me into
sneaking halfway down the stairs to see if I could
catch a glance of our presents. I always got talked
into shit like that, you see, because Kevin didn't
want to be the one who got busted if we got caught. My
parents were still cultivating the whole "Santa" myth
in those days, and they'd left our toys unwrapped
under the Christmas tree so we'd think St. Nick had
brought
them. I'd tiptoe down the stairs, take a peek, and
then race back up and report to him what I'd seen.
That was the year I got a remote controlled R2-D2 toy,
and I couldn't wait for 8:00am to come so I could get
my hands on it. That whole evening was filled with a
childlike joy and enthusiasm which adulthood would
later rob me of. I'll always be glad that Kevin
and I got to experience those times together.
As we continued to grow up, though, the differences in
our personalities started to become apparent. My
brother was always athletic and into playing sports,
while I was far more interested in playing with my
Star Wars toys, drawing comics and daydreaming. Kevin
used to try and involve me in sports all the time. He
was a good baseball player and he'd want me me to play
with him, but I'd always tell him, "I don't like
baseball." He used to get frustrated with me,
sometimes to the point of trying to trick me into
playing. One time he came toward me carrying a bat,
two mitts and a ball. Before he could even say a word,
I said the exact same thing I always said in those
situations; "I don't like baseball." But Kevin
wasn't ready to give up that easily. " This isn't
baseball," he said. "It's a game I made up
called 'Pitch, Hit and Run.'" He then went on to
explain the rules, which sounded to me an awful lot
like baseball. "That's just baseball!" I said,
even though he kept insisting it wasn't. When he saw I
wasn't biting, he threw down the baseball equipment in
disgust and walked away. You know, looking back now, I
almost feel sorry for him. I'm sure he wanted a little
brother whose ass he could kick around on the ball
field, but I wasn't that kind of kid. I just wasn't
interested.
The fact that we had totally different interests
didn't mean I didn't look up to him, though. In fact,
for a time I idolized Kevin. He was older and he
seemed to know about all kinds of things. He was also
my personal barometer as to what was "cool" and what
wasn't. When Kevin got a pair of Puma tennis shoes, I
had to have a pair just like his. When he started
listening to The Beatles, I did too, if for no other
reason than to be like him. When he'd try to hang out
with his friends, I'd tag along and fuck everything
up. He wasn't too happy with that, and he'd tell me to
get lost. But then I'd whine to my mother and she'd
make him hang out with me. I'm sure he hated me for
that sometimes, but I honestly wasn't trying to be
annoying. I just looked up to him, that's all.
And while I may have been annoying at times, that
didn't mean that he wouldn't do things for me. Kevin
was the one who taught me how to ride a two wheel
bike. It wasn't my dad, it was Kevin. I remember that
day very well. We had taken the training wheels off my
bike and Kevin started giving me lessons. I was a
pretty bad rider at first and took many a tumble onto
the cement as he ran alongside the bike, coaching me.
Kevin's enthusiasm made me ignore my scraped knees
and bloody elbows. We stayed out there half the day,
and just around the time my mom called us in for
dinner I managed to ride my bike all the way from the
front sidewalk and into our backyard--where I promptly
crashed into the garage. Kevin cheered like I had just
accomplished something really major, and I felt happy
to make him proud--even though I was a crumpled,
bloodied mess up against the garage door. I'll always
remember how he did that for me. I really loved him
for that.
Kevin was always a good student, even though he hated
school. I mean, he really despised it. He was somewhat
of a shy kid, and he went through an "awkward" stage
that lasted for quite a few years. That may have had
something to do with his hating school, because we all
know the "awkward" guys never got the girls. I
remember how he'd come through the back door, throw
his books on the kitchen table and moan, "I hate
school!" I didn't understand why he felt that way
at the time. After all, I actually enjoyed school for
the most part. "Well, that's only because you're in
first grade," he'd say. "Just wait until you
get to fourth!" Every year, we'd have this exact
same conversation--and no matter what grade I was in,
Kevin would always warn me about how terrible it was
going to get later on.
He was always telling me horror stories about school,
which are hilarious in hindsight. When he was
in junior high, he had a math class that he really,
really hated. It was taught by a teacher that was not
only an asshole, but completely insane as well.
(Decades spent with smart-mouthed adolescents will do
that to you.) Kevin used to dread the
class--especially since it came along with a daily
beating. See, there were these three kids who used to
hang out in the hallway outside the room and they just loved to beat the shit out of poor Kevin. He
didn't even know who they were, but they'd wait for
him every day before class. When they saw him, they'd
say, "Here he comes!" and then take turns belting him in the stomach. Kevin endured this
punishment for several weeks, until the tie came when
they fucked with him on the wrong day. One of the
three guys went to punch him (just like always), but
Kevin grabbed him first and knocked the holy hell
right out of that punk. That ended the problem for him
right there. Kevin never went out looking for trouble,
but he was also no pushover. |
"Kevin and mom, who's pregnant with JTL in this
picture." |
"Two drunks, Christmas of 2005." |
Times continued to change, and along with them my
relationship with Kevin changed too. Our "giant" room
suddenly wasn't seeming so giant anymore, and we
started to butt heads all the time. It was actually
perfectly natural, because we were growing up and we
wanted our own space. Suddenly, a room the size of a
football field would have seemed way too small for the
two of us.
We fought all the time. I was always a chubby kid, so
he'd constantly rag on me about that. He called
me "fat boy" and "cow" all the time, which really
bugged me--especially when he'd do it in front of my
friends. In return, I'd call him "Half Beard," a
nickname he'd gotten in school when his surging
hormones caused him to grow a beard that only came in
on one side of his face. He hated that name, but I
never let him forget it. That time in the past when
I'd idolized him seemed a distant memory, and it got
to the point where we could barely stand the sight of
one another. We regularly came to blows, but it was
pretty one-sided as I was no match for him. He used to
pin me down, roll me on my side and pound the shit out
of my arm until I was screaming in agony. Then, he'd
roll me over and do the other arm.
Part of this was normal, but it also went hand in hand
with the fact that our family was falling apart. My
parents were very unhappily married, and everybody
(except my father) could see the writing on the wall.
Kevin had started driving by then, so he was home less
and less in an attempt to escape our unhappy home--and
our dad, who was becoming increasingly difficult to be
around. He had also outgrown his awkward stage, so
suddenly he had all these girlfriends hanging around.
That was a bit weird for me to deal with. I mean, this
was my dorky brother. He wasn't supposed to get
chicks.
After he graduated high school in 1989, it's like he
couldn't leave home fast enough. He immediately got an
apartment with our cousin Warren and left the state. I
remember how on the day he moved out, he gave me a
quick hug (something he hadn't done in YEARS) and
basically said, "See you around, man." There
seemed to be a lot unspoken, but the underlying
message
was this; I was on my own now. He wasn't going to be
around all the time to look out for me anymore. And I
have to admit, as he drove away I was surprised to
find a tear rolling down my face. Even though things
hadn't been exactly peachy between us for the previous
few years, I realized just how much I was going to
miss him. Part of me still misses him,
actually--and sometimes even now when I wake up in the
middle of the night, I half expect him to be there, in
a bed just a few feet away from mine.
My brother Kevin is a grown man now, with a wife and a
family all his own. His son Connor just turned twelve,
and it makes me so proud to see what a fine father he
is to that boy. The last time I saw Connor, it was a
little emotional just to see him standing there,
looking so much like his dad that it almost made me
feel like a little kid again. Connor has, I'm happy to
say, also inherited his father's sense of humor and
gentle good nature. Kevin has become the type of
father that we'd always wished we had when we were
growing up. I've always said that I'll never get
married and settle down, but a part of me envies the
life my brother has made for himself. It's a life I'll
probably never have for myself, but I'm happy that he
has it. And although I don't get to see him as much as
I'd like, our relationship is good and the unspoken
bond between us is still there.
It's funny how life goes in circles; I went from
idolizing my brother, to hating him, and now here I
am, looking up to him all over again. I wish I was
more like Kevin. Much like my mom, he's a genuinely
good person who puts the needs of his family before
his own.
He's never let me down--and even though I'm now a
grown man myself, I know that he's still
watching out for me, just like he did at Skate Land
all those years ago.
Because your big brother will always be your big
brother. No matter what.
I love you, Kevin.
-JTL
Got something to say? E-mail me HERE
Jeremy the Loner on MySpace!
www.myspace.com/jeremytheloner |
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