Brothers

I have one. I am one.

But am I the best one I can be?

Or do I do enough to keep my bias judgment relevant?

My brother and I were close as we grew up. I clearly remember that we enjoyed each other's company. We did a hell of a lot together.

We played backyard cricket until dusk passed to night, we fought each other hard, there were some injuries, and although there was an age gap, we were friends united by circumstance. We shared the load when it came to a stepfather who tried his best but had little idea of raising two young boys.

Then came the inevitable moment in my life when it was time for me to leave home, and I have to admit that I was more than ready. Yet sadly and a little self-obsessed, I failed to consider what this might mean for my younger brother.

I bolted; I had made it through; I was in the wind, ready to take on the world and make all the mistakes that lead me here. But my brother was still there, and now there was no one to share the load of an angry man thinking he was doing right, dishing out punishment fit for no young boy.

I wrongly assumed that my brother would do as I did, keep his head down and do what he had to, to survive, but I was wrong. He was a different kind of animal and, in many ways, much braver than myself.

He stood up for himself, time and time again, only to get beaten down, time and time again. He did his best in schools that are not designed for a guy like him. It seemed like my stepfather was trying to break him, so he could create exactly what he wanted; to control him, and fix the predictable mistakes he made with my sister and me.

But things didn't go to plan. Now by himself and taking shots from what must have seemed like every direction, my brother rebelled. Perhaps it was just a simple scream for help. Yet the more he screamed, the worse it got. I didn't have the skills to help; the truth was I was just happy to survive without too much damage, and deep down, I knew if I got involved, it would cause issues for those left behind. 

I am ashamed to admit that it was not a good enough excuse, just a convenient one, that served the purpose of temporarily ridding me of my obvious guilt.

This period of life seemed to take a toll and in many ways, continues to do so. He was alone, left to defend himself against an emotional and physically superior person, and as his older brother, I made a choice not to be there.

On paper, he had the better upbringing, but in reality, it was far worse. I think of this often, yet we have never really spoken about it. I left, and he stayed; and from that moment on, we were brothers by blood, but I feel this is a brother I let down, a brother I should have done more for.

I am sorry, my friend, for not being there, for not standing up for you, for not offering my hand when you needed it. I am sorry that we drifted apart, started doing the birthday and Christmas thing. But I am most sorry about the fact that I began to judge you by other's standards, blind to your unique self, not allowing myself to see your pain because the truth is that it hurt too much to confront.

I am sorry.