Jonathan

I have two older brothers: Jason and Jonathan. This post is about the middle brother, Jon. I've talked about some of the abuse I suffered in my childhood. Most of that abuse — the longest-running and most profound — took place at the hands of Jon. 

The pictures directly above and below were taken in Florida many moons ago. My family would go to a condo owned by the company my father worked for during Christmas vacations. We did that many years with varying degrees of completeness. Sometimes Jason could join us, sometimes my grandma came. But it was always a bunch of white Nebraska folks (okay, Gramma wasn't from Nebraska) getting burned by the sun and eating a lot of key lime pie and seafood.

Looking at these pictures, something is clear. I mean, besides the fact that at one point I changed which side I parted my hair. No, I mean the legacy of my relationship with my brother is not simple. It is as I would describe his behavior: bipolar. We were friends much of those years. We were mortal enemies, as well. 

My brother did the most to put in me the programming so familiar to those who are abused, and he did so mentally, emotionally, verbally, and physically. I bear the scars of that relationship. Though I won't go into specifics here for the sake of brevity and forgiveness, I will say this: my brother was a monster, a cruel, cruel monster. He was also a heckuva nice guy. Depending on variables that no one but he knew. Or the direction of the wind. Who knows? 

The picture below was taken right before my brother's high school graduation in 1992. I was in 8th grade. And had no fear of wearing pink. And if you're gonna wear pink, ya gotta wear black with it because those colors go so well together. I'm not sure which is worse: wearing pink or knowing which colors it goes well with. Anyway, this picture did not signify the end of a relationship, though it did, I believe, signify the beginning of what may have been some regret on my brother's part.

The pictures below were taken at Angostura Reservoir when we were quite young. They were taken in a short timeframe, clearly. They also clearly show the bipolar switch that occurred somewhere between their being taken. 

It's true that lastborns can be antagonistic. I admit that. I'm sure I deserved my fair share of beatings. However, I didn't deserve all of it. And that bipolar switch existed without any input from me. I recall one day after swim team practice a girl in my brother's class (who I believe is dead now) asked for a ride home. She lived just a few blocks away. My brother politely said yes and drove her home, talking with her the whole time. After we dropped her off and she walked away, my brother said, "You lazy, fat, fucking bitch." I was shocked. It came out of the blue but was said with mean conviction and just moments after being pleasant. Such is my brother — a study in opposites.

Then there is the brother I knew who raced with me from the top of Harney Peak (now Black Elk Peak) to the bottom. We ran with the surefootedness of gazelles and made it to the bottom in record time. I have many good memories. My brother (largely and begrudgingly) taught me how to drive a stick shift. We hunted together, broke bread together, and, of course, fought. I remember actually spitting at him (he was in the shower) I was so mad. Do you know how mad you have to be to spit on someone? That's when you have nothing to left to say, but you are still so mad you have to do something. My brother has given me the equivalent of probably $30,000 over the years, in part because I believe he felt remorse for the way he treated me. That's a whole lotta remorse.

Today, I have nearly no contact with either of my brothers. I think that's the way a lot of families are. Our families don't necessarily become our best friends. They were just our first friends. And, in my case, they were my first abusers as well. It's no wonder I never knew what to expect from people if I could have a softspoken gentleman for a brother one moment and a tyrant the next. I've lived my life on my tiptoes, walking on eggshells. I married a woman who was much the same way as my brother, too. I never knew what to expect. Well, except that I would be treated unfairly. Yet I was as loyal as could be expected anyway. It's clear when I was programmed that love equals pain, humiliation, and trauma. It's unclear whether that programming has been broken. Perhaps it has in part. I've been told I have an "older sibling" personality, as I often try to protect others. It could be an overcompensation for what I lacked growing up. 

If it hasn't become abundantly clear by now, I didn't have a whole lot of positive male role models. And I also didn't have a good model for what to look for in a woman to share my life with. Our families are our first programming. They teach us how to see the world. They teach us our place. Where I am now in life and where I've been are the bearing out of so many years repeating that initial programming. The rest of my life may be about breaking that programming. Here's hoping. 

One thing I have learned is forgiveness is the first step. And I do forgive my brother and the rest of my family. And myself for deserving so much abuse. 

Thank you for reading. And God bless.