taraj0524
Apr 22, 2013
Writing Feedback / Are you Smarter than My Brother? [2]
Are you Smarter than My Brother?
On *********, 2004 my little brother was born. For me, this was a huge milestone: caring for him, loving him, and being there all weighed me down like stones. For some reason, my little brother despised me. From throwing up in my hair to stealing my toys, I thought my life would end. Then, all of it sudden, the barfing-in-my-hair and the stealing my toys seized to exist. I would be the one to comfort him when he was in a tantrum. He would tell me everything in the world, and he would even let me hug his chubby baby body.
As the seasons changed and spring turned to summer, my brother and learned to walk and talk. We were the best of friends, and I thought that nothing would ever change that. Perhaps it was a phase that I was going through, or maybe Charlie was in one of his moods again. Gradually, our fights started to involve hitting and screaming. Somehow, my parents always blamed me.
" You should have let your brother win that game. Now look at how you've made him feel."
" But what about me? Am I not allowed to beat my little brother?"
"No, just let him win every once in a while."
"But that would be cheating."
"Go to your room you're grounded for a week."
These fights never got any better as I grew older, and except for the occasional "I hate you" to both parents and a little more drama, things never really changed.
As the summer leaves turned a crimson red, I started fifth grade, and Charlie started his first year of a new school. As nervous as he was, he coped well and by the end of the day, he walked out of our school with four new friends and a love for many, many new things he had never known of before. That weekend, my family went to Target and all Charlie wanted was a small pack of about five pokemon cards. After lots of begging and pleading, I finally gave him five dollars to buy the pokemon cards. Later (and still now), I ridicule him for spending five bucks on pieces of paper. He got a little offended, as usual, but his time, my mom jumped into the picture. I was grounded for a month.
Maybe I've interpreted this wrong, but then, and now, it seems whenever me and my little brother have a fight (every five minutes) both my parents would jump in to defend my little brother. Their reasons? He was younger, yes. But I am also young. My parents flattered me and told me how mature I am, but did they really expect me to believe all their lies?
So, I made a decision. I would have to stand on my own and that way, there would be less fights with my younger brother, and I wouldn't have to fight with all my household all the time, right?
Wrong. Sure, there were less fights, but whenever I want to ask for something, my parents say "Oh, you're smart enough, you can figure it out."
Finally, I gave up. I just had to know. So, I did what I always did: I asked him for help.
"Charlie, why do mom and dad take your side in everything? It's like you're an angel from heaven or something!"
He gave me a blank stare and said,
"Lacey, this isn't a war. All sibling gets into fights, and I know you always think it's your fault, but really: it's both of ours. Sure, you sometimes cause it, sometimes I cause it. We fight, we cry, we make up. Mom and Dad take my side sometimes because you're smarter. Don't you remember all those fights mom and dad took your side on? They count for something too."
I sat there, just staring at him. My little brother has never threatened to hurt me or steal from me. At age ten, after five years of torment and screaming, I finally got it. I am still trying to make myself a better person and sister.
My little brother has tried to take an interest in everything I do, from sports to school. He knows how to solve basic algebra, interpret Animal Farm just as well as I can, knows all things history, and is just about one of the smartest people I know. But it's not because of the vast variety of information he knows, it's because of the conversation we had on that miraculous morning.
Are you Smarter than My Brother?
On *********, 2004 my little brother was born. For me, this was a huge milestone: caring for him, loving him, and being there all weighed me down like stones. For some reason, my little brother despised me. From throwing up in my hair to stealing my toys, I thought my life would end. Then, all of it sudden, the barfing-in-my-hair and the stealing my toys seized to exist. I would be the one to comfort him when he was in a tantrum. He would tell me everything in the world, and he would even let me hug his chubby baby body.
As the seasons changed and spring turned to summer, my brother and learned to walk and talk. We were the best of friends, and I thought that nothing would ever change that. Perhaps it was a phase that I was going through, or maybe Charlie was in one of his moods again. Gradually, our fights started to involve hitting and screaming. Somehow, my parents always blamed me.
" You should have let your brother win that game. Now look at how you've made him feel."
" But what about me? Am I not allowed to beat my little brother?"
"No, just let him win every once in a while."
"But that would be cheating."
"Go to your room you're grounded for a week."
These fights never got any better as I grew older, and except for the occasional "I hate you" to both parents and a little more drama, things never really changed.
As the summer leaves turned a crimson red, I started fifth grade, and Charlie started his first year of a new school. As nervous as he was, he coped well and by the end of the day, he walked out of our school with four new friends and a love for many, many new things he had never known of before. That weekend, my family went to Target and all Charlie wanted was a small pack of about five pokemon cards. After lots of begging and pleading, I finally gave him five dollars to buy the pokemon cards. Later (and still now), I ridicule him for spending five bucks on pieces of paper. He got a little offended, as usual, but his time, my mom jumped into the picture. I was grounded for a month.
Maybe I've interpreted this wrong, but then, and now, it seems whenever me and my little brother have a fight (every five minutes) both my parents would jump in to defend my little brother. Their reasons? He was younger, yes. But I am also young. My parents flattered me and told me how mature I am, but did they really expect me to believe all their lies?
So, I made a decision. I would have to stand on my own and that way, there would be less fights with my younger brother, and I wouldn't have to fight with all my household all the time, right?
Wrong. Sure, there were less fights, but whenever I want to ask for something, my parents say "Oh, you're smart enough, you can figure it out."
Finally, I gave up. I just had to know. So, I did what I always did: I asked him for help.
"Charlie, why do mom and dad take your side in everything? It's like you're an angel from heaven or something!"
He gave me a blank stare and said,
"Lacey, this isn't a war. All sibling gets into fights, and I know you always think it's your fault, but really: it's both of ours. Sure, you sometimes cause it, sometimes I cause it. We fight, we cry, we make up. Mom and Dad take my side sometimes because you're smarter. Don't you remember all those fights mom and dad took your side on? They count for something too."
I sat there, just staring at him. My little brother has never threatened to hurt me or steal from me. At age ten, after five years of torment and screaming, I finally got it. I am still trying to make myself a better person and sister.
My little brother has tried to take an interest in everything I do, from sports to school. He knows how to solve basic algebra, interpret Animal Farm just as well as I can, knows all things history, and is just about one of the smartest people I know. But it's not because of the vast variety of information he knows, it's because of the conversation we had on that miraculous morning.