Baby Brother

My little brother is failing school.
It's a surprise, really. To everyone. My family, when we're seen from afar, is perfect. Although there was a rocky divorce that my parents went through some years ago, my siblings and I (as well as everyone else who was involved or heard of the news) have long since come to terms with the separation and moving from one home to another. Now when people look at us all they see is my beautiful mother who still looks to be in her early thirties, my hard working yet carefree father, and the ever academically enhanced children they had. Well, the first three at least.
My younger brother doesn't exactly fit the picture. He's not an idiot, he's not stupid, mentally there is nothing wrong with him. At times I silently admit to myself that he could even outsmart me when we argue about a topic. He certainly isn't lazy. I admire my brother for his ability to stick with a hobby or activity and work hard at it. So my family isn't exactly sure why each time he comes home with a report card it's filled with failing grades.
My little brother is socializing with the wrong crowd.
I suppose the term 'wrong' is an opinion but that's how my family sees them. You know the type. The kids who hang out behind the school or McDonald's, skateboards in hand, laughing at a dirty joke, and looking for an opportunity to do something risky and dangerous. My brother has even admitted to me that some of his friends do drugs and, although he has assured me that he hasn't, I sometimes worry that he joins them in the act. It is a known fact that my younger brother is the most social of all his siblings and that's good (I wish I could be as interactive as him) but my family always complains of why those kids. Why couldn't he hang out with the children who give a good influence like his other siblings?
My little brother is grounded.
No phone, no computer, no television, no music, and no socializing with friends. It's every child's nightmare. I watch my brother just sit on the living room couch everyday with no way to pass the time. As hours go on and on my brother's temper rises. The inner brat that lies within him (that lies within everyone) creeps to the surface until it finally seizes control. My brother snaps. He yells, he screams, he insults, and he fights. And, God, I'm scared but I stand my ground because I know I have to and I know I have to be the mature one. Once he realizes that anger doesn't work he'll complain, whine, and beg until he knows for certain that he won't get what he wants.
My brother lies to my family.
Because he was driven to it. The failing, the friends, the pressure from his family all led up to the point where lying was his way to escape. Lying gives him the opportunity to do what he wants and not what his parents have to say and to a thirteen year old its almost like Heaven on Earth. But the thing is, my brother gets caught. From some way or another my family figures out that he's trying to slide by us, lie to us, dodge every rule and he's punished. Each time I listen to my parent's raise their voices in order to scold my brother, knock down any excuses or weak protests he provides, and add another term to his grounding until they turn to me and tell me to leave the room.
None of it fits. We don't understand. And, for some reason or another, my brother is unable explain why.
My little brother cries at night.
I can hear him. He sleeps in the room next to me and I can hear the sobs and cries and the string of insults that spew from his mouth through a thin wall. My heart clenches with sympathy and I feel like crying myself because he's only thirteen and in middle school and he shouldn't have to cry like the way he does. My chest swells with guilt because I know I'm part of the reason why he cries. That every time he comes home he's approached with pressure after pressure and the person closest to his age can't even offer a helping hand or help him fight against the parents. I am absolutely scared for my brother because I've cried the way he has and I've felt the way does and the thoughts always lead down one path. I can imagine my brother walking into the kitchen to grab the nearest sharp object and just ending everything.
I love my little brother.
I do. Every night when I know that my mother's door is shut and the lights are off I sneak into my brother's room. I find him lying in his bed, still awake, still trying to find a way to pass the time, and I can see objects that had been thrown to the floor from pure rage from hours before. My brother turns to me and glares as if I am the reason for everything that has gone wrong in his life, as if I were to be burned to ash at that moment all his troubles would go away. My brother speaks. What he says varies each night. Sometimes he'll tell me to leave and other times he'll ask what I want, both said with venom, and I would toss him one of my electronic devices. I'd give him my phone or my ipod touch and I would glare at him as I did it to give off the impression that just because I was doing this didn't mean I could be walked all over. My brother never seems to care, he's too wrapped up in the electronic and I'd leave the room.
I know what I do is wrong and I know that there's a lesson that my brother needs to learn through being grounded but just seeing my little brother happy, smiling, alive, and making a joke in the midst of all this crap (removing the horrible image of his emotionally wretched self from my mind) gives me the motivation to bend the rules just for him.My little brother is failing school.
It's a surprise, really. To everyone. My family, when we're seen from afar, is perfect. Although there was a rocky divorce that my parents went through some years ago, my siblings and I (as well as everyone else who was involved or heard of the news) have long since come to terms with the separation and moving from one home to another. Now when people look at us all they see is my beautiful mother who still looks to be in her early thirties, my hard working yet carefree father, and the ever academically enhanced children they had. Well, the first three at least.
My younger brother doesn't exactly fit the picture. He's not an idiot, he's not stupid, mentally there is nothing wrong with him. At times I silently admit to myself that he could even outsmart me when we argue about a topic. He certainly isn't lazy. I admire my brother for his ability to stick with a hobby or activity and work hard at it. So my family isn't exactly sure why each time he comes home with a report card it's filled with failing grades.
My little brother is socializing with the wrong crowd.
I suppose the term 'wrong' is an opinion but that's how my family sees them. You know the type. The kids who hang out behind the school or McDonald's, skateboards in hand, laughing at a dirty joke, and looking for an opportunity to do something risky and dangerous. My brother has even admitted to me that some of his friends do drugs and, although he has assured me that he hasn't, I sometimes worry that he joins them in the act. It is a known fact that my younger brother is the most social of all his siblings and that's good (I wish I could be as interactive as him) but my family always complains of why those kids. Why couldn't he hang out with the children who give a good influence like his other siblings?
My little brother is grounded.
No phone, no computer, no television, no music, and no socializing with friends. It's every child's nightmare. I watch my brother just sit on the living room couch everyday with no way to pass the time. As hours go on and on my brother's temper rises. The inner brat that lies within him (that lies within everyone) creeps to the surface until it finally seizes control. My brother snaps. He yells, he sceams, he insults, and he fights. And, God, I'm scared but I stand my ground because I know I have to and I know I have to be the mature one. Once he realizes that anger doesn't work he'll complain, whine, and beg until he knows for certain that he won't get what he wants.
My brother lies to my family.
Because he was driven to it. The failing, the friends, the pressure from his family all led up to the point where lying was his way to escape. Lying gives him the opportunity to do what he wants and not what his parents have to say and to a thirteen year old its almost like Heaven on Earth. But the thing is, my brother gets caught. From some way or another my family figures out that he's trying to slide by us, lie to us, dodge every rule and he's punished. Each time I listen to my parent's raise their voices in order to scold my brother, knock down any excuses or weak protests he provides, and add another term to his grounding until they turn to me and tell me to leave the room.
None of it fits. We don't understand. And, for some reason or another, my brother is unable explain why.
My little brother cries at night.
I can hear him. He sleeps in the room next to me and I can hear the sobs and cries and the string of insults that spew from his mouth through a thin wall. My heart clenches with sympathy and I feel like crying myself because he's only thirteen and in middle school and he shouldn't have to cry like the way he does. My chest swells with guilt because I know I'm part of the reason why he cries. That every time he comes home he's approached with pressure after pressure and the person closest to his age can't even offer a helping hand or help him fight against the parents. I am absolutely scared for my brother because I've cried the way he has and I've felt the way does and the thoughts always lead down one path. I can imagine my brother walking into the kitchen to grab the nearest sharp object and just ending everything.
I love my little brother.
I do. Every night when I know that my mother's door is shut and the lights are off I sneak into my brother's room. I find him lying in his bed, still awake, still trying to find a way to pass the time, and I can see objects that had been thrown to the floor from pure rage from hours before. My brother turns to me and glares as if I am the reason for everything that has gone wrong in his life, as if I were to be burned to ash at that moment all his troubles would go away. My brother speaks. What he says varies each night. Sometimes he'll tell me to leave and other times he'll ask what I want, both said with venom, and I would toss him one of my electronic devices. I'd give him my phone or my ipod touch and I would glare at him as I did it to give off the impression that just because I was doing this didn't mean I could be walked all over. My brother never seems to care, he's too wrapped up in the electronic and I'd leave the room.
I know what I do is wrong and I know that there's a lesson that my brother needs to learn through being grounded but just seeing my little brother happy, smiling, alive, and making a joke in the midst of all this crap (removing the horrible image of his emotionally wretched self from my mind) gives me the motivation to bend the rules just for him.