Throughout my childhood and teenage years, growing up with a younger brother was a curse rather than a blessing. I was an only child until I was about five-years-old. This meant I received the majority of affection from my parents and my other close family members. I was the star of the show and that meant I received anything I wanted to a certain extent. It was in September of 1998 that my younger brother came into the world. Gaining a younger sibling was an event I had been particularly excited for. I had come up with a name for a younger sister based off a character on a soap opera my mom would watch. However, I was less than amused when my younger sister become a younger brother. I had no say in naming him. Even worse was that I had no idea what to do with a little boy.
From the get-go my brother and I were opposites, the obvious difference being that he was a boy and I was a girl. I was born with absolutely no hair and remained that way for nearly 18 months while my brother was born with a head full of dark, bushy hair. His nursery was painted red and the walls were covered with balloon decorations. He cried at night and I hated him for it. I often escaped the crying by sitting in the living room where my dad snored away on the couch and "Star Wars" played over and over again on the TV. I was an awkwardly tall child who had a tiny baby taking over the living room, the place I spent most of my time playing. I found myself spending more time in my room, playing with Barbies or plastic horses in a wooden barn. I was becoming an introvert and no one seemed to notice.
Photo by Jinni Workman
The first three years of my brother’s life are a moderate blur to me. Perhaps I was too young to remember what happened. There is one event that consistently sticks out in my mind though. I had received two gerbils as a gift, Cutie and Po (aptly named after the Teletubby). These little critters, two girls, stayed in my brother’s room where there was more room to keep them away from our cats. My brother was more than fussy one morning. My parents soon discovered that Cutie and Po were not two girls, but now a mother and a father to five small, pink babies. While my brother was normally able to sleep through the squeaking of the gerbils running wheel, he was unable to ignore the constant peeping of the little babies. My mom says it was because it scared him. I, however, was convinced that he didn’t want them in his room anymore. My young mind had decided that my baby brother was already plotting against me.
As we got older and we moved out of our big house in Unity, Maine into a smaller apartment in Waterville, Maine, things with my brother seemed to get worse. My parents divorced and now we were living with only my mom, though my dad did make sure to visit us every day after work. It was when my brother was about seven-years-old that the behavioral issues became more apparent. I was a quiet child. I kept to myself. I didn’t talk back. I focused on my school work and played "Pokemon" on my Gameboy advance in my spare time. My brother, however, would have temper tantrums that gradually turned more aggressive and louder as he got older. The more aggressive these tantrums become the more attention was brought onto my brother. As a 12-year-old, I didn’t see this as my parents trying to help my brother. I saw this as my brother taking away any attention I might have gotten from my parents. It made me hate him even more.
Eventually, through many doctors visits, my parents were able to find a reason behind the violent outburst and pure defiance my brother was demonstrating. He was diagnosed with Oppositional Defiant Disorder. Basically, my brother had a problem with authority figures. In this case, it was my parents. For a long time, I stayed out of the way. I didn’t get involved. I tried to ignore all the arguments my parents had over whether or not to put my brother on medication (it was decided he wouldn’t). I tried to ignore how often my brother tried to start fights with me. It wasn’t until I hit my teenage years that I was no longer able to ignore how vindictive my brother was.
My brother and I would get into screaming matches over minor situations, such as who would pick what to watch on TV or who would get to sit where on the couch. These screaming matches soon turned into more violent outbursts where my brother would get so frustrated that he would physically lash out on me. It was at this point that my relationship with my brother was at it’s all time low. I wanted nothing to do with him. I was embarrassed to have friends over because he would start fights with my parents. He refused to do anything that involved celebrating my accomplishments or talents such as band concerts or dance recitals. I stopped going to his sports games. I stopped communicating with him. I was now an authority figure and he didn’t like that.
Our relationship stayed like this through my high school years. I graduated in 2012 and I still hated my younger brother. All he did was cause problems. I was 18-years-old and I was ready to move on, to get away from all the fighting. It was through going to college that the situation between my brother and I began to shift drastically. I was no longer living at home, and was only around a couple days a week. Though it took a few months, I began to notice that my brother would come in my room when I was home. He would sit on my bed and start to do his own thing. We didn’t talk much. We just sat quietly and continued on with whatever we were doing.
Photo by Jinni Workman
Our arguments grew increasingly less hostile and more like normal sibling bickering. We were able to agree on more such as what restaurant to order out from (usually Ming Lee’s Chinese in Waterville) or what movie to watch as a family. We still argued about who sat where on the couch, but the violent outbursts had completely vanished and my brother was starting to settle down. The longer I spent away from home, the better the relationship with my brother started to be. As college went on and my brother started high school, our silent hangouts become more talkative. We would watch videos on Youtube and laugh together. We would gossip about the teachers at the high school or about our neighbors. I would help him with homework if he had any questions. We would order breakfast pizza from our favorite small “Deli-ery” around the corner. We would spend so much time on my webcam taking pictures.
Photo by Jinni Workman
Now in my senior year of college, I barely go home at all. My brother and I maintain our relationship through Snapchat or snarky text messages. I have my own apartment. I have a boyfriend who I go to see every weekend instead of going home to see my family. My brother will be entering his senior year of high school in just a few short months. He’s looking at colleges to go to and I’m encouraging him to go out of his comfort zone. He may be interested in the university I’ll be attending for graduate school and it’s a little exciting to think that I may have a family member so close. It took a long time for my brother and I to transition from enemies into friends. For a while, I was worried that we would never get there and that I would go through my entire life without a good relationship with my younger brother.
Photo by Jinni Workman
My advice for anyone who may be experiencing a similar situation to mine is to give it a chance. Don’t give up on your younger sibling when things seem impossible. I am fairly certain that everyone will be able to develop a relationship that will someday sprout into a beautiful thing. The same can go for younger siblings who are looking to develop a better relationship with an older sibling. Take time. Express that you are willing to forgive past mistakes. Build a relationship that you are happy to share with the world.
