The other day, I was talking with my little brother about his brand-spanking new first tattoo. He got a Dharma Wheel (also known as dharmacakra, duh) - the Noble Eightfold Path one (also known as āryāṣṭāṅgamārga, duh) - on his skinny little forearm. As we texted back and forth, he explained the meaning behind it being a something about a representation of the path to self-awakening. As we texted, I thought a few things. Things like Wow, I haven't heard about dharma since sophomore year world history and a brief (20 minute) discussion on Buddhism. And, wow, remember that show Dharma & Greg? And, wow, Jenna Elfman was annoying. And, wow, I'm pissed my brother got a tattoo somewhere visible before me. And, wow, I bet dad is pissed. And finally, wow, my brothers and I are so different.
Before I get too involved with that mess, let me set the scene for you. I am the middle child. When I tell people that I'm the middle child, there is always a strong reaction. Sometimes, people immediately start to beat me. Other times, people run away in fear. Most of the time, a lightbulb goes on above their heads and I suddenly make profound sense to them. I highly doubt that any of these people have studied Adler and his oft-debated conclusions on birth order, so it's usually easier for me to just say "Yeah, I have the Madonna complex." Which is to say that I am almost one hundred percent motivated by seeking attention or approval.
My older brother, for a very long time, was my enemy. Not necessarily in the sense that I intentionally had it out for him or that he intentionally had it out for me, but we both were the antithesis of each other for nearly our entire lives. When I was little, he was attention-seeking, while I was aloof and really just sat around looking confused. Don't believe me? I have documented evidence in the form of home movies from my 4th birthday. He would hog the camera, making faces and some of the most unnatural and awful noises you could ever dread to hear. I would sit in the background, patiently waiting for the camera to return to me so I could open my new My Little Pony. I don't think it was until I learned how to form sentences and was properly introduced to the wonderful world of Disney that I realized I had what to took to be a much better attention-seeker and performer.
Dustin was (and still is) what you think of when you think of a boy. He loved bulldozers so much he made our sandbox into a construction site, completely ruining the beach I had imagined for my Barbies. He bit other boys on the arm and drew blood. He said bad words so often that he can likely list the ingredients in Dove hand soap from taste recollection alone. He ruined many a summer night for me as I was dragged to the baseball fields to watch him play Little League for years. He pulled a knife on some girls in the woods in our neighborhood and got brought home in a cop car (my personal favorite). He had all these guy friends, he wore awful clothes, he listened to Nirvana and Green Day and Jay-Z. He smoked and hid it poorly and I remember thinking how terrible of a person he was because of it. As we grew up and he got a car, he removed himself from the family... always on the go, always something to do, always "working" at some "job" to pay for his "car." At family gatherings, he was always the center of attention, making everyone laugh with Chris Farley impressions or just by being him. I didn't get him mostly, and what I didn't understand, I was purely jealous of.
My little brother is a whole other freak of nature. Mickey, named after the baseball player Mickey Mantle, is the baby. My childhood memories of him do not really include him speaking and that is the God's honest truth. I literally don't remember my little brother talking until maybe the age of eight? When I ask my parents, they are genuinely in agreement that he didn't speak much, but when he did, it made you go: "Hmm...!" Mickey walked around with a bowl on his head all the time. Why? Don't ask stupid questions, it's Mickey. He was always coerced against his will (which I know is redundant, but I can't be more clear) to perform in my productions, to be my sole pupil when I wanted to play school, to be my camera man when I wanted to make music videos, and to be my victim when I felt the irrepressible need to play practical jokes or scare the pure, natural shit out of someone. The poor kid. My memories of Mickey are almost completely seen through the lens of things I made him do. But he had strong interests. None of which were to play with me, and all of which were to play with other boys in the neighborhood. He was a bridge between Dustin and I. He had the rough, boyish interests of getting dirty and playing sports, but somehow acquired an imagination that Dustin didn't possess, which I will take sole credit for thank you very much. I mean, I basically indoctrinated an imagination in the kid. Instead of tag, we played "Jurassic Park." Instead of bike races, he created a full on "airport" out of our driveway and garage.
Mickey was always a baby, he was really dumb (I love you), and he was the butt of almost every family joke. Like the time he claimed to remember a random tree on a highway once, like they had been best friends or something. Or the time when Dustin and I scared him so bad in a Halloween store that he knocked down a 10 foot display of costumes. Or the times we told him he was adopted because he looked like literally no one in our family. Or the time I bounced him off the trampoline and he landed right on his head. Come to think of it, Mickey had a pretty rough go at it. Sorry, bud.
I was pretty much none of these things. I realized at a very early age that I wasn't interested in the things Dustin was doing unless it involved competition because I always wanted to be the best and outdo him. People never believe me, but I was the fucking star of neighborhood football games, if only because if I didn't kick ass, they would give new life to the old fun times of "smear the queer." Everything I did was in relation to my brothers, and it was almost always to be better than them. I don't have conscious recollections of being neglected by my parents (I have suppressed that deeply) or that I had any real need to feel this way, but I did. I was competitive, aesthetically-minded, endlessly creative, and much more socially-inclined than them. In other words, a total fag.
Now, Dustin works on a golf course as a superintendent and loves it. He hunts, as in, kills animals. Or tries to, I don't go into details with him but I secretly hope he's awful at it. I even bought him neon orange hunting gear for Christmas, not so he would stand out to other hunters, but so that the animals wouldn't be able to miss him. He has a wife, three dogs, he sounds like a fucking redneck, he goes camping all the time and is, quite literally, the little version of himself all growed up.
Mickey is a devoted scholar, which is a nice way of saying he goes to school and plays video games all the time. He's a hippie to the core, stonerific and hookah-smoking proud Croc owner who could philosophize with you until you are blue in the face. Much like his childhood self, he is fiercely protective and defensive about the things he knows and his studies and gets really upset if you challenge something he claims to know about. Just like the "tree" that he "remembered." In all honesty, he is a very smart guy who is the very definition of the strong, silent type. Instead of speaking, he mostly just makes noises, or puts his hands in his pants to let you know that he's not interested in speaking on the matter anymore.
Me? Well, I'm still super gay.
I just got to wondering how all three of us ended up so different while being raised in a household that was, by most accounts, incredibly consistent. Dinner was always on the table at 6:30, playtime was always until the sun went down, if you made a mess you cleaned it up (Author's note: Unless you were Dustin), and things of that nature. So, how did I end up being the gay one? Why do they have the Southern accents and I don't? Why is Dustin so prone to manual labor, and why the hell is Mickey so lazy?
I guess I know certain things about myself are a direct result of having the brothers that I have. As stated, I know I'm competitive because of Dustin. I know I'm good at negotiating to my benefit because of Mickey. I know not to drive myself mad with anxiety because of Mickey and the strong example he set when he was injured. I know not to take life too seriously because of Dustin's sense of humor. I started to really grow up and be excited about it because of the rare brotherly talk Dustin and I had one night over Christmas where he spilled everything to me and for the first time, I felt like his friend.
And naturally, being the middle child, I wonder what it is that I've given to them.
We haven't always been the closest, but maybe one of the only really great things about getting older is coming to a point where you're ready to appreciate your family and love them for who they are. It's all I've ever asked from them for myself, after all. I feel lucky to be able to love my family now more than I ever have before, and especially my brothers.
Being of the homosexual persuasion, I think there is a very natural urge to surround yourself with people who make you feel safe and supported. So often, we fly to urban centers where this safety is almost guaranteed. As I've built my new family of friends, I have had to remind myself of the one I was given and how much of myself I owe to them.
Support isn't always beautiful, and it isn't always "We are one hundred percent behind you." I've learned that my childhood and my brothers, in particular, have supported me in ways no one else can: by challenging me, by making me feel weird and like an outsider, by telling me I wasn't good enough, or that I was too gay, or that I needed to shut up because I was so annoying. It was in these ways that I learned that support can come in many forms, including verbal abuse. In a way, they are spokes on my Dharma Wheel, helping to steer me to self-awakening.
But really, it's about how you choose to let it affect you, and I'm not so sure I would have learned this without my two brothers. I feel like a lot of people live their entire lives without learning that you can choose what you get from things. I could go through life resentful of our differences, or I could love and appreciate them for how they have shaped me. I choose to love them for helping me on my journey to better know myself.
And also for the bond we have that has been made through our memories (see also: scars). The bond that only three brothers can create.
Before I get too involved with that mess, let me set the scene for you. I am the middle child. When I tell people that I'm the middle child, there is always a strong reaction. Sometimes, people immediately start to beat me. Other times, people run away in fear. Most of the time, a lightbulb goes on above their heads and I suddenly make profound sense to them. I highly doubt that any of these people have studied Adler and his oft-debated conclusions on birth order, so it's usually easier for me to just say "Yeah, I have the Madonna complex." Which is to say that I am almost one hundred percent motivated by seeking attention or approval.
My older brother, for a very long time, was my enemy. Not necessarily in the sense that I intentionally had it out for him or that he intentionally had it out for me, but we both were the antithesis of each other for nearly our entire lives. When I was little, he was attention-seeking, while I was aloof and really just sat around looking confused. Don't believe me? I have documented evidence in the form of home movies from my 4th birthday. He would hog the camera, making faces and some of the most unnatural and awful noises you could ever dread to hear. I would sit in the background, patiently waiting for the camera to return to me so I could open my new My Little Pony. I don't think it was until I learned how to form sentences and was properly introduced to the wonderful world of Disney that I realized I had what to took to be a much better attention-seeker and performer.
Dustin was (and still is) what you think of when you think of a boy. He loved bulldozers so much he made our sandbox into a construction site, completely ruining the beach I had imagined for my Barbies. He bit other boys on the arm and drew blood. He said bad words so often that he can likely list the ingredients in Dove hand soap from taste recollection alone. He ruined many a summer night for me as I was dragged to the baseball fields to watch him play Little League for years. He pulled a knife on some girls in the woods in our neighborhood and got brought home in a cop car (my personal favorite). He had all these guy friends, he wore awful clothes, he listened to Nirvana and Green Day and Jay-Z. He smoked and hid it poorly and I remember thinking how terrible of a person he was because of it. As we grew up and he got a car, he removed himself from the family... always on the go, always something to do, always "working" at some "job" to pay for his "car." At family gatherings, he was always the center of attention, making everyone laugh with Chris Farley impressions or just by being him. I didn't get him mostly, and what I didn't understand, I was purely jealous of.
My little brother is a whole other freak of nature. Mickey, named after the baseball player Mickey Mantle, is the baby. My childhood memories of him do not really include him speaking and that is the God's honest truth. I literally don't remember my little brother talking until maybe the age of eight? When I ask my parents, they are genuinely in agreement that he didn't speak much, but when he did, it made you go: "Hmm...!" Mickey walked around with a bowl on his head all the time. Why? Don't ask stupid questions, it's Mickey. He was always coerced against his will (which I know is redundant, but I can't be more clear) to perform in my productions, to be my sole pupil when I wanted to play school, to be my camera man when I wanted to make music videos, and to be my victim when I felt the irrepressible need to play practical jokes or scare the pure, natural shit out of someone. The poor kid. My memories of Mickey are almost completely seen through the lens of things I made him do. But he had strong interests. None of which were to play with me, and all of which were to play with other boys in the neighborhood. He was a bridge between Dustin and I. He had the rough, boyish interests of getting dirty and playing sports, but somehow acquired an imagination that Dustin didn't possess, which I will take sole credit for thank you very much. I mean, I basically indoctrinated an imagination in the kid. Instead of tag, we played "Jurassic Park." Instead of bike races, he created a full on "airport" out of our driveway and garage.
Mickey was always a baby, he was really dumb (I love you), and he was the butt of almost every family joke. Like the time he claimed to remember a random tree on a highway once, like they had been best friends or something. Or the time when Dustin and I scared him so bad in a Halloween store that he knocked down a 10 foot display of costumes. Or the times we told him he was adopted because he looked like literally no one in our family. Or the time I bounced him off the trampoline and he landed right on his head. Come to think of it, Mickey had a pretty rough go at it. Sorry, bud.
I was pretty much none of these things. I realized at a very early age that I wasn't interested in the things Dustin was doing unless it involved competition because I always wanted to be the best and outdo him. People never believe me, but I was the fucking star of neighborhood football games, if only because if I didn't kick ass, they would give new life to the old fun times of "smear the queer." Everything I did was in relation to my brothers, and it was almost always to be better than them. I don't have conscious recollections of being neglected by my parents (I have suppressed that deeply) or that I had any real need to feel this way, but I did. I was competitive, aesthetically-minded, endlessly creative, and much more socially-inclined than them. In other words, a total fag.
Now, Dustin works on a golf course as a superintendent and loves it. He hunts, as in, kills animals. Or tries to, I don't go into details with him but I secretly hope he's awful at it. I even bought him neon orange hunting gear for Christmas, not so he would stand out to other hunters, but so that the animals wouldn't be able to miss him. He has a wife, three dogs, he sounds like a fucking redneck, he goes camping all the time and is, quite literally, the little version of himself all growed up.
Mickey is a devoted scholar, which is a nice way of saying he goes to school and plays video games all the time. He's a hippie to the core, stonerific and hookah-smoking proud Croc owner who could philosophize with you until you are blue in the face. Much like his childhood self, he is fiercely protective and defensive about the things he knows and his studies and gets really upset if you challenge something he claims to know about. Just like the "tree" that he "remembered." In all honesty, he is a very smart guy who is the very definition of the strong, silent type. Instead of speaking, he mostly just makes noises, or puts his hands in his pants to let you know that he's not interested in speaking on the matter anymore.
Me? Well, I'm still super gay.
I just got to wondering how all three of us ended up so different while being raised in a household that was, by most accounts, incredibly consistent. Dinner was always on the table at 6:30, playtime was always until the sun went down, if you made a mess you cleaned it up (Author's note: Unless you were Dustin), and things of that nature. So, how did I end up being the gay one? Why do they have the Southern accents and I don't? Why is Dustin so prone to manual labor, and why the hell is Mickey so lazy?
I guess I know certain things about myself are a direct result of having the brothers that I have. As stated, I know I'm competitive because of Dustin. I know I'm good at negotiating to my benefit because of Mickey. I know not to drive myself mad with anxiety because of Mickey and the strong example he set when he was injured. I know not to take life too seriously because of Dustin's sense of humor. I started to really grow up and be excited about it because of the rare brotherly talk Dustin and I had one night over Christmas where he spilled everything to me and for the first time, I felt like his friend.
And naturally, being the middle child, I wonder what it is that I've given to them.
We haven't always been the closest, but maybe one of the only really great things about getting older is coming to a point where you're ready to appreciate your family and love them for who they are. It's all I've ever asked from them for myself, after all. I feel lucky to be able to love my family now more than I ever have before, and especially my brothers.
Being of the homosexual persuasion, I think there is a very natural urge to surround yourself with people who make you feel safe and supported. So often, we fly to urban centers where this safety is almost guaranteed. As I've built my new family of friends, I have had to remind myself of the one I was given and how much of myself I owe to them.
Support isn't always beautiful, and it isn't always "We are one hundred percent behind you." I've learned that my childhood and my brothers, in particular, have supported me in ways no one else can: by challenging me, by making me feel weird and like an outsider, by telling me I wasn't good enough, or that I was too gay, or that I needed to shut up because I was so annoying. It was in these ways that I learned that support can come in many forms, including verbal abuse. In a way, they are spokes on my Dharma Wheel, helping to steer me to self-awakening.
But really, it's about how you choose to let it affect you, and I'm not so sure I would have learned this without my two brothers. I feel like a lot of people live their entire lives without learning that you can choose what you get from things. I could go through life resentful of our differences, or I could love and appreciate them for how they have shaped me. I choose to love them for helping me on my journey to better know myself.
And also for the bond we have that has been made through our memories (see also: scars). The bond that only three brothers can create.
Omg wesness! This is such a great way of looking at life and I love the way you tell it. Xoxo casey
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