Writer's Block: Pecking Order
Aug. 19th, 2009 09:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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He Ain't Heavy; He's My Brother: OR, an Essay on Being the Eldest AND Adopted
I am the eldest of two, and we were both adopted--which, TRUST ME, definitely affects your personality if you're in the know.
Eldest children are supposed to be the ones that get spoiled by their parents, but I was the one that did the spoiling—I was a Good Kid. I was a relatively lonely child prone to bouts of good natured fits of hyperactive make-believe—there weren't many kids in the neighborhood, and I was one to curl up in my toy corner, or run manic around my play set, speaking gibberish as I played in a world of my own. Home videos prove this, and honestly, you'd think I was speaking some sort of demon tongue or something. S'little creepifying.
I'd always been aware of my adoption, and it was a non-issue. I mean, thanks to younger cousins who came into the family the USUAL way, I was more than aware of how babies were born. I had that book, the one with the very anatomically correct drawings of the baby developing in the uterus (…My dad's a doctor, there were some things we didn't mince, and others we entirely ignored. I used to watch his surgical videos with him when I was 6*…and at 13 got the sex talk from my great uncle Caeser, who was a Franciscan priest.)
But I was the lucky one! I mean, how awesome is it, to be SO WANTED by your parents! I knew about how I was named after St. Anthony, Patron of Lost Things, because my mother prayed to him for a child. I knew it took them 3 years to finally jump through the hoops just to be ABLE to adopt. I knew about how they went to the hospital and how the lawyer handed me over. I knew about how terrified they were at the 6-month mark that my birth mother would want me back—and how she never showed for the court date.
But about the time I was 2, my parents decided one was so much fun, they'd try to adopt again! My mom made a little scrap book of our family, to show…I don't even know, prospective adoption agencies? The prospective birth parents? But I recall pouring over, looking at the pictures of me and my parents and our house and our cat. My parents asked me a handful of times if I would rather a baby brother or a baby sister, and my answer was always a resounding "BROTHER!"
But these things take time, and I forgot all about my possibly impending sibling-hood until my aunt came from Jersey to babysit me while my parents left for a 3 day trip to the San Francisco Bay Area. I was 4 years old, and my parents left with the assurance that when they came back, I would be a big sister.
When they returned 3 days later it was WELL past my bedtime, but my aunt had let me stay up for their arrival. And when my parents finally walked through the door, and put my new brother on their bed for me to see, that was it. He was MY BROTHER, and I was going to be the best damn big sister I could be. We were going to do awesome BOY things together, like play cops and robbers and Indians and cowboys (I was always the Indians, and I ALWAYS WON). I took INTENSE interest in him; for example, there's home video proof of a temper tantrum, and HONEST TO GOD TEMPER TANTRUM I threw over what his middle name should be. (I wanted Salvatore for my father. He got Vito for our grandfather instead.****)
Of course, once my brother hit toddler-hood and beyond, we fought like cats-and-dogs with some bouts of brotherly love. Oh sure, we still had fun together, but the fun was seriously punctuated by Serious Sibling Wars. My brother and I are extremely physical sorts, which meant we would get into really knock-down, drag-out slap fights, until my mother would wade in, knock us both silly, and banish us to separate rooms. Car trips were the worst, regardless of the "Captain" seats of our mini-van—even sitting with a gap between us, we'd still end up in pinching/hitting/slapping fights. And he would ALWAYS start them, and I'd ALWAYS get in trouble because I was older and stronger and should know better.
Though, if YOU'D been hit by my brother, you'd know the "you're older and stronger" argument was a load of crap. We were on equal ground, really. He had a mean right hook, and I'd only ever slap him; after all, I WAS his big sister. I wanted to knock sense into him in my rage, not BRUISE him.
There are one or two friends from my childhood who can bear witness.
And yet—one time, someone was talking shit about my brother, and I got all defensive on her. "You don't even LIKE your brother!" she retorted.
"You don't understand," her mother interrupted. "He's her BROTHER. You can hate your brother, but he's still your BROTHER."
Things have reached equilibrium between us—less fighting, more snarking, more geeking, less hating. We don't talk as much as we could, but when we do…we're on a shockingly similar brain wave. We have a solemn pact here and there which shall not be spoken of to outworlders.
But at end of the day, yes; I AM my brother's keeper.
-------
* Movie nights with dad** would often go like this:
"Daddy, what are they doing?"
"They are performing a hip replacement."
"But why isn't there any blood, there's always blood!"
"That's because they are performing the operation on a cadaver."
"What's a cadaver?"
"A dead body."
"Oh--then why are they replacing his hip, he doesn't need a new one!"
"For practice, Ellie, doctors have to practice surgery."
"Ohooooh."
**This is the man who let me watch Raiders of the Lost Ark when I was 4, and would rent Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein every Halloween***.
***I love my dad.
****No offense meant, grandpa Vito.
He Ain't Heavy; He's My Brother: OR, an Essay on Being the Eldest AND Adopted
I am the eldest of two, and we were both adopted--which, TRUST ME, definitely affects your personality if you're in the know.
Eldest children are supposed to be the ones that get spoiled by their parents, but I was the one that did the spoiling—I was a Good Kid. I was a relatively lonely child prone to bouts of good natured fits of hyperactive make-believe—there weren't many kids in the neighborhood, and I was one to curl up in my toy corner, or run manic around my play set, speaking gibberish as I played in a world of my own. Home videos prove this, and honestly, you'd think I was speaking some sort of demon tongue or something. S'little creepifying.
I'd always been aware of my adoption, and it was a non-issue. I mean, thanks to younger cousins who came into the family the USUAL way, I was more than aware of how babies were born. I had that book, the one with the very anatomically correct drawings of the baby developing in the uterus (…My dad's a doctor, there were some things we didn't mince, and others we entirely ignored. I used to watch his surgical videos with him when I was 6*…and at 13 got the sex talk from my great uncle Caeser, who was a Franciscan priest.)
But I was the lucky one! I mean, how awesome is it, to be SO WANTED by your parents! I knew about how I was named after St. Anthony, Patron of Lost Things, because my mother prayed to him for a child. I knew it took them 3 years to finally jump through the hoops just to be ABLE to adopt. I knew about how they went to the hospital and how the lawyer handed me over. I knew about how terrified they were at the 6-month mark that my birth mother would want me back—and how she never showed for the court date.
But about the time I was 2, my parents decided one was so much fun, they'd try to adopt again! My mom made a little scrap book of our family, to show…I don't even know, prospective adoption agencies? The prospective birth parents? But I recall pouring over, looking at the pictures of me and my parents and our house and our cat. My parents asked me a handful of times if I would rather a baby brother or a baby sister, and my answer was always a resounding "BROTHER!"
But these things take time, and I forgot all about my possibly impending sibling-hood until my aunt came from Jersey to babysit me while my parents left for a 3 day trip to the San Francisco Bay Area. I was 4 years old, and my parents left with the assurance that when they came back, I would be a big sister.
When they returned 3 days later it was WELL past my bedtime, but my aunt had let me stay up for their arrival. And when my parents finally walked through the door, and put my new brother on their bed for me to see, that was it. He was MY BROTHER, and I was going to be the best damn big sister I could be. We were going to do awesome BOY things together, like play cops and robbers and Indians and cowboys (I was always the Indians, and I ALWAYS WON). I took INTENSE interest in him; for example, there's home video proof of a temper tantrum, and HONEST TO GOD TEMPER TANTRUM I threw over what his middle name should be. (I wanted Salvatore for my father. He got Vito for our grandfather instead.****)
Of course, once my brother hit toddler-hood and beyond, we fought like cats-and-dogs with some bouts of brotherly love. Oh sure, we still had fun together, but the fun was seriously punctuated by Serious Sibling Wars. My brother and I are extremely physical sorts, which meant we would get into really knock-down, drag-out slap fights, until my mother would wade in, knock us both silly, and banish us to separate rooms. Car trips were the worst, regardless of the "Captain" seats of our mini-van—even sitting with a gap between us, we'd still end up in pinching/hitting/slapping fights. And he would ALWAYS start them, and I'd ALWAYS get in trouble because I was older and stronger and should know better.
Though, if YOU'D been hit by my brother, you'd know the "you're older and stronger" argument was a load of crap. We were on equal ground, really. He had a mean right hook, and I'd only ever slap him; after all, I WAS his big sister. I wanted to knock sense into him in my rage, not BRUISE him.
There are one or two friends from my childhood who can bear witness.
And yet—one time, someone was talking shit about my brother, and I got all defensive on her. "You don't even LIKE your brother!" she retorted.
"You don't understand," her mother interrupted. "He's her BROTHER. You can hate your brother, but he's still your BROTHER."
Things have reached equilibrium between us—less fighting, more snarking, more geeking, less hating. We don't talk as much as we could, but when we do…we're on a shockingly similar brain wave. We have a solemn pact here and there which shall not be spoken of to outworlders.
But at end of the day, yes; I AM my brother's keeper.
-------
* Movie nights with dad** would often go like this:
"Daddy, what are they doing?"
"They are performing a hip replacement."
"But why isn't there any blood, there's always blood!"
"That's because they are performing the operation on a cadaver."
"What's a cadaver?"
"A dead body."
"Oh--then why are they replacing his hip, he doesn't need a new one!"
"For practice, Ellie, doctors have to practice surgery."
"Ohooooh."
**This is the man who let me watch Raiders of the Lost Ark when I was 4, and would rent Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein every Halloween***.
***I love my dad.
****No offense meant, grandpa Vito.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
that's nice!
Date: 2009-08-19 02:45 pm (UTC)Re: that's nice!
Date: 2009-08-19 03:20 pm (UTC)Thank you for your comment!
no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 02:50 pm (UTC)Thank you for writing this.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 03:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 02:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 03:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 03:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-20 07:45 pm (UTC)Of course, once he stopped bawling (and I stopped freaking out), I yelled at him for standing behind me.
Ah, memories.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 04:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-20 07:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 10:19 pm (UTC)Still, it isn't like we hate each other. I just miss when we were on the same wavelength. Going out in the world and then coming back home sucks.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-20 07:54 pm (UTC)Sullen teenager? My bro was a sullen, angry 4-18 year old. Here's hoping that too will pass with your sister.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 11:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-20 07:54 pm (UTC)