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Who's Afraid of the Boogie Man?

Like almost all siblings my brother, Alex, and I had our share of fist fights, and like most older brothers mine always managed to win. There was a time when the two of us were playing indoor baseball and I smashed a grand slam directly through the center of the living room coffee table. As usual a fight was to break out over who was taking the blame for this one before we would actually put our heads together and devise a plan to cover up our blunder. We grabbed some magazines that had been left laying around and used them to cover the broken pieces of the table. This gave the illusion of a functioning coffee table, since any coffee table’s job is to house magazines. My brother then went and sit as a look out. He was to alert me to our mother’s presence, and then we would execute our plan. As my mother entered the room my brother gave the signal and I threw a magazine on top of the table. It was amazing. Both of us watched as the impact caused the glass table to shatter into a million pieces. It was more exciting then breaking it with the ball only moments earlier. My brother and I somehow managed to fool our mother. Although she definitely had her doubts about how a magazine could actually break a glass table.

Between the bickering and the playing I actually managed to learn a lot from him. Growing up in Silicon Valley, we were exposed to more than our fair share of computers and electronic gadgets. My brother was a real wiz when it came to technology. He was the first person I had ever seen “go online,” and at the time I don’t think I would ever had cared to tinker with a computer had it not been for his influence. The first time I ever played a video game was on my brothers Apple IIe. It was strictly text based with no graphics to spice things up. A poor quality game, compared to today’s standards, but it was fun and challenging at the time. We’ve obviously moved on to more exciting games, and faster computers, but the passion he sparked in me still remains.

I wish I could say that everything he introduced me to was good and for the best, but it wasn’t. Most of it wasn’t. The first time I got drunk I was with my brother. The second time I got drunk I was with my brother. Not that any of this was detrimental to my developing into a decent human. He was looking out for me. If I was going to learn a hard lesson, it was going to come from my brother. I could always count on him to show me some of the unspoken realities of life. This was the responsibility of the an older brother.

Darkness. Pitch-black. No boogey man here. It didn’t matter. I was always safe when I was with him. I shared a bunk bed with my brother when we were growing up. We had our own separate rooms, each with its own bunk bed. Four beds. Two boys. We’d switch off rooms and keep each other company and always made each other feel safe when we were together. It wasn’t that we didn’t know the boogey man was fake, but we knew as a team we would be able to stop anything. Stories about the San Francisco Giants and Will “The Thrill” Clark would keep us entertained at night. My brother Alex was a Will Clark fan, and I was a Kevin Mitchell fan. We’d argue over who the better player was, they were both great hitters, but in the end, it never really mattered it was just chatter to help us sleep better.

It was back when we were in our bunk beds that he first introduced me to one of the harsh realities of life; honesty. I don’t remember much of being five years old. I do remember some of the nights we sat up in bed talking for hours. “Nobody likes you because you always break things,” my brother told me. I couldn’t believe the words that had just left his mouth. I’m still not even sure what provoked the comment. I didn’t remember breaking anything that wasn’t mine. I probably had, but I certainly didn’t remember. I was five years old and the last thing I had been concerned about was other people’s property. Everything was either mine or of no concern until it was mine. My brother who was 2 years older than I was more mature and was starting to become aware of the world around us. I think he was using this comment as a way to upset me, but at the same time, he had inadvertently taught me a lesson I’d never forget.

Eyes shut tightly. I had visions of broken toys dancing across my eyelids. It was bedtime, and I couldn’t sleep. What had I broken? Who doesn’t like me? Had my brother really been serious? Hours had ticked by before I could even muster up a little rest. I woke up in the morning only slightly refreshed and jumped down from my top bunk. I glanced over at my brother laying there sleeping so peacefully. My feelings were still hurt and I was still angry about his comment to me the previous evening. I wanted to go over to his bed and put fist to face. Something from inside held me back. Maybe the idea that he was right. This was the self-centered behavior my brother described to me. I was a person people did not like. I didn’t hit him. I couldn’t hit him. I wasn’t going to be that person anymore.

“Get up, Alex!” I yelled at my brother. Sheets rolled off the bed. I could see the world had changed for me over night. It had looked like a ground zero in some sort of toy factory explosion right in the middle of our room. I guess I did break things. “You want to clean up this room?” I asked my brother as he slowly inched his way out of his bed sheets. He said he’d rather watch cartoons. I couldn’t blame him. It was Saturday. Saturdays had the best cartoons. My brother and I were big Garfield fans. Last nights accusation had already become a distant memory for him. I couldn’t forget, and while my brother watched cartoons, I spent my time picking up the broken mess.

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