TM 276 ... SIBLINGS
Are you an only child? Write about your siblings or lack thereof.
When I was growing up my father always told me I was destined to be a real man. A great man. My brother never heard the same type of praise. I am not an only child but there were many times my father would say otherwise. My older brother Omer...he was always given such a hard time when we were growing up. That is the curse of being the eldest son.
One instance I can recall occurred when I was eight years old and Omer was twelve. My father was upset with Omer again for having a reserved nature: children with that demeanor did not survive. They were supposed to become men and yet Omer constantly resisted. He dragged my brother outside to a coop out back full of chickens and ordered Omer to kill one. My father left. To this day I don't know if he expected Omer to quit or if he went to keep himself busy expecting a long wait before any progress was made. Omer could not kill the chicken under such pretenses...this I was aware of. He seemed so awkward standing there with that butcher knife handing down by his legs like a heavy weight of burden.
I killed the chicken for my brother. I snapped its neck with my bare hands without an ounce of shame. It was merely an animal. I had no sympathy for a creature that serves as a meal. What I cared for was my brother. I gave the bird to him and told him to present it to our father. There was no desire for credit on my part for I wanted nothing to prove. Instead of accepting the honor when out father reappeared Omer told the truth. That was always the nature of him I like to remember. It always frustrated me, but I believe I can begin to understand now his resistance. He was a much stronger boy than I in the sense he never became jaded for so long. Forever he is etched in my mind as the awkward-looking boy with the butcher knife dangling by his knees without a wish of ill or murder in his heart.
I think of him often these days.
I wish I could be more like him.
When I was growing up my father always told me I was destined to be a real man. A great man. My brother never heard the same type of praise. I am not an only child but there were many times my father would say otherwise. My older brother Omer...he was always given such a hard time when we were growing up. That is the curse of being the eldest son.
One instance I can recall occurred when I was eight years old and Omer was twelve. My father was upset with Omer again for having a reserved nature: children with that demeanor did not survive. They were supposed to become men and yet Omer constantly resisted. He dragged my brother outside to a coop out back full of chickens and ordered Omer to kill one. My father left. To this day I don't know if he expected Omer to quit or if he went to keep himself busy expecting a long wait before any progress was made. Omer could not kill the chicken under such pretenses...this I was aware of. He seemed so awkward standing there with that butcher knife handing down by his legs like a heavy weight of burden.
I killed the chicken for my brother. I snapped its neck with my bare hands without an ounce of shame. It was merely an animal. I had no sympathy for a creature that serves as a meal. What I cared for was my brother. I gave the bird to him and told him to present it to our father. There was no desire for credit on my part for I wanted nothing to prove. Instead of accepting the honor when out father reappeared Omer told the truth. That was always the nature of him I like to remember. It always frustrated me, but I believe I can begin to understand now his resistance. He was a much stronger boy than I in the sense he never became jaded for so long. Forever he is etched in my mind as the awkward-looking boy with the butcher knife dangling by his knees without a wish of ill or murder in his heart.
I think of him often these days.
I wish I could be more like him.