80th Birthday Gift from my Brother

​I always wanted an older brother but never had one—until now.

It took 80 years, but it was worth the wait. Let me explain. I have a brother, in the flesh. He’s a couple years older than me. My earliest recollection of him was one of longing—I yearned for a sibling to love, do things with and take me under his wing. By the age of three, I knew I would have none of that. He kept me at arms length, even as a toddler. He was modeling my parents; he wanted nothing to do with me. I had nowhere to go for love, protection or understanding.  

So, naturally I did the only thing I knew how to do: broke all of his toys. This served as sweet revenge for him not giving me the attention I so deeply deserved. On one occasion, I snuck into his room and smashed all of his precious crayons. No more coloring for him. I was, of course, punished. I didn’t care. It was worth it.
 
Despite my transgression, he agreed to let me play gas station with him. He turned his bicycle upside down, and I put my finger in the chain. He turned the wheel. Voila, no finger. To this day, my brother claims he was more distraught than me. He was emotionally scarred, but I was without a finger. My mother (uncharacteristically) spent hours at the doctor's office with me, ensuring that I would go through life with all my digits. No child of hers could be less than perfect—she would see to that. 

Years later, my brother and I (having repaired), ran away from home. We charted a course to my Aunt Reba's house in stylish Beverly Hills, a step up from our relatively modest suburban enclave. She even had a pool. For our surreptitious escape, my brother rode his Schwinn bicycle, now with the chain in working order. I followed behind him, peddling my red, sparkly tricycle with steely (at least at first) determination. We got as far as the railroad tracks before I broke down in tears. I missed my mommy. I wanted to go home. My brother wanted to forge ahead. My tears won out.  

I returned home to my mother’s arms which, to my dismay, stayed glued to her sides. She offered no comfort, and my brother was pissed. The fiasco gave him another reason to refuse to bond with me. There would be no swimming that day. My heart was broken. I had let down the person I most wanted to please.  

After the finger incident and failed attempt to break free from our lives, I still held out hope that my big brother would love and protect me. It was not to be. I eventually redirected my attention to four-legged friends. Dogs didn't push me away. They listened with rapt attention and didn't hurt my feelings. 

By the time I was twelve, I was withdrawn, depressed and alone in my own little world. This retreat-to-isolation default would persist for many years. When that pattern didn't pummel the pain of anxiety and depression, I did what a lot of good girls do: I used drugs and became an addict.

Where was my brother in all of this? AWOL. He was getting on with his life. He preferred no mess, emotional or otherwise. He never once offered to help. My brother had his own axe to grind with our family. He was disowned by my parents for marrying an Asian woman. But he didn’t skip a beat. Unlike me, he knew how to take care of himself. He went back to school, got a PhD and became a successful neuropsychologist.

If my revenge was breaking things, my brother’s was becoming a man. As family lore goes, my brother’s life was one of achievement and mine was one of destruction. His happy ending included a wife and child; mine (which came much later) included a pet and a rose garden.

Before that though, my brother’s life was solid if not somewhat rigid. Between work, golf and vacations, there was scant time for his lonely, adrift sister. Sure, one could say I needed to get my life together—after all, I was plagued by mental illness, drug addiction and too many brownies. I tried, on occasion, to reach out to my brother for support or a favor. He was predictably unavailable. Every. Time. He never put himself out for me. He was a brother in name only. I resented him for this, but mostly I was hurt and there were no more toys to break.

Seven years ago, when I finally got sober and moved to Marin, I established a program called The Coloring Diva where I put together coloring kits for disadvantaged populations. I wanted to give back. Through my acts of service, I shine and am the person I've always wanted to be. I finally found me. I aspire to be known for helping others. I feel like I’m enough. I'm here to report that being enough, whole and complete is a big relief. Granted, I wanted full-on fame at some point (which is an essential phase or fantasy if you grow up in LA) to match my Prada shoes and Gucci purse, but I feel worthwhile, having carved out my intentional corner of the world filled with roses, friends, art, words, healthy (if not boring) food and my ever-loving dog, Lucky. Isn't this the life I’ve been searching for all these years?

Note well that the prior sentence did not list my brother as an essential set piece in my life. I've positioned him as an antagonist in my childhood and an absentee sibling in our adult lives. We now live miles apart, me in Marin and him in Temecula. We do talk on the phone, almost regularly. I recently asked him to come to my 80th birthday party. He quickly and expectedly declined. I wasn’t disappointed.

He did say something that practically knocked my socks off, though: We have a great and meaningful relationship, even if it is only over the phone.

I knew then what I know now. He was always there for me, just not in the way I needed him to be. For him, a phone relationship is all he can manage, and I have to understand and respect that. I’m a different being. I'll take a hug over a text any day of the week. I want someone to be there for me, in person. My reality now includes many people who are there for me in the flesh. My brother just isn't one of them. And that's okay. We don’t always get what we want or need, but we have to accept people for who they are.

Even though I've been put in the "phone zone" (compare: "friend zone" or "sister zone" or "love-you-till-the-bitter-end zone"), I have a buddy and that has to be good enough.

As our call drew to a close, I went for it: 

I love you, I said. 

I love you too, he said back.

That was a first—and the best birthday gift I’ve ever received, even if it did take 80 years!

​Thank you, Bro!!!