16th of April 2007 Revised: 7th of July 2009
ODE TO BIG BROTHER
I have an older brother who was born March 9th of 1966 while I followed May 24th of 1967. Our mother did the best job she could, given her circumstances, but our childhood left an indelible scar that shattered our youth while making manhood a difficult passage at best.
I was the typical younger brother who looked up to his older brother. As a child I followed him like a puppy would his guardian. He was smarter and far more adventurous than I could ever imagine being, so following in his shadow made me feel more like him than I normally could. We knew I was different from the earliest times in my life, but around the age of six years old, my brother learned what the words queer, gay and faggot meant; surreptitiously appointing these foul brands to be adorned by me. We had no clue they were appropriately given to my inclinations. I was young and the names hurt, but I still desired to be just like my brother. Not a day went by that our mother didn’t chastise me with: “why can’t you be more like your brother?” She was ruthless with her faint sarcasm and deliberate attempts to remake me in his image as did our father. No matter how hard I tried to be just like my brother, there was nothing I could do to appease our parents or lesson the sting of their verbal taunts.
As my reverence towards my brother gained more fervor, my parents continued hoisting his likeness upon me while he simultaneously hated my attempts of emulation. I would replicate his every gesture, because was as I thought the desires of our parents. As I emulated him, he halted my attempts with the use of physical force and a good old fashion beating. My brother eventually joined my parents with his own battle of taunts and verbal abuse that lasted until he left home for the Navy.
It wasn’t until he started molesting me that I realized my older brother was not someone I wanted to be like any longer. For one year I suffered at the end of his physical abuse hoisted upon me in a way that two brothers should never. I was forced to succumb to his sexual needs and during this carnal feast of my innocence; he forced his way inside of me. I understood at far too young an age what pain was all about. The physical abuse increased during his brutal exploitations of me, for the only reason I can assume was to ensure I kept me from vocalizing our escapades. During this year long struggle, I found something in it that felt natural to me. While the concept of what my brother was doing disgusted me, my realization that the physical contact with another man felt far more natural than the few times he tried forcing me to have similar encounters with my younger sister and a neighborhood girl.
I had no desires to perpetuate the same horrific physical assaults on either. I grasped that I was in the midst of my own sexual awakening that would have naturally come with a struggle later in my life had it been allowed to takes its natural progression. I was far too beaten, submissive and shy to have made the larger leap that I was forced to make at the age of 13 years old had none of this occurred.
I’ve spent a number of years in therapy understanding and forgiving the violation brought about at the hands of the brother I adored. I may have the clearest picture as to what the family dynamics really were during this time in our lives. My brother’s brutality did not stop with molesting me, nor did it start at its inception. He continued using me as his personal punching bag and means to release stress, but at least he knew he would never sexually abuse me again.
My retributions for being the lesser son, sibling, started with my father, who made it my brother’s personal job to toughen me up and make me into a real man. My brother was directed to his attacks against me as the golden boy of the family and who could do no wrong. He is the exact replica of our father, with whom he despised with all his heart. My brother was given an engaging quest to remake the fag into a man. As we grew, I watched as the hate for our father grew within my brother, just as an unattended tumor consuming all in its path, growing until it takes over its host. My brother remained constant in his vigil to never emulate our father, but he was reminded daily by the reflection staring back at him. Our father was a constant reminder reflected within his walk, his speech, his mannerisms and his temperament, which were identical in every way to the man he loathed. Each day was another day closer to becoming our father and that thought seemed to be another step closer in the opposite direction that he truly espoused.
My brother’s dream was to find a woman that he adored and could honestly love. Our father might love a woman, but he was taught that the best she could ever be was a sexual outlet for her man. My father believes that women were to be dominated, demeaned, tortured and their only services other than feeding, taking care of the kids and the house; was to service her man well. He could and should have many different women taking care of him, but his wife was chattel and was only a dominated toy for his whims. My brother found the woman he so greatly desired and one who made him the happiest I’d ever seen. He found his Venus after many years of drug abuse while she spurred in him the aspirations to clean up his life. He fought and won custody of his son from another woman and started building the future he most wanted with his soon to be wife. Things seemed to be going well for him, but the drugs soon became a far too frequent call to action exemplifying just how difficult a fight for possession of his soul would really be. No matter what they did as a family or how hard he fought against the hold crack seem to have on him; he could not break free from its grip. Not even for his dreams of love from the one woman and son he cherished above all. Without acknowledgement, he had succeeded where our father never could; he had if even for the slightest time, the dream he never imaged he could receive: a loving family and he was the devoted father and husband.
As crack continued to ravage his body and mind, he lost that woman who still loves him with all her heart. They had a beautiful little girl that my brother wasn’t even aware when she was born, because he was on a drug induced bender. He never knew how he almost lost both his cherished wife and precious little girl that night, due to a chemical substance that holds his life within its grip. My brother with few other resources available to him has moved in with the one man he detested with all his heart. The vile insides of him has turned that once loving father and husband into a psychotic man with a thirst only to destroy the woman who once set his world right-side up, but who is now seen as keeping him from his baby girl.
It is amazing to me how psychoses can drive the very sane into insane acts. He left his once peaceful and cherished home to live with our father and upon doing so, let his exasperated wife know he would not fight her for custody of their child. Knowing deep within his heart he could not be the father she deserves. However, my father’s influence over a drug riddled man, has led my brother to fight for custody of the girl with whom he has barely spent time. He has had more days with drugs since her birth then he has spent with his precious daughter. The misguided drug influenced man is being filled with spite and hate from the original source that turned a decent boy into a molester. The prodding and deceit of our father and his wife, turned an act of attrition, from the heart of the same grown man, into a raged filled drug addict spurring forth his vengeance. Influence from a man so filled with contempt for himself, as he identified that he too turned out to be just like the father he once hated, and for the very same reasons his very own son loathed the man who claimed father to him.
Now I am faced with the perils of sitting in a court of law recounting the facts listed in this very story. I must fill in the details that would turn each stomach of the listeners as I expose the abuses I suffered at the hands of my brother. It doesn’t matter that the boy was guided by our father who vilified his eldest son. My brother and our father want custody of this precious little girl for all of the wrong reason. My brother can no longer be a parent to even his son who is living in the environment we grew up in. I try to hold back the disgust that fills my heart for the way I was raised and knowing this precious little boy is under the same manipulations that we knew as children. Knowing that the once honor filled man who stood in front of me with great remorse in his eyes, yet unable to get out the words out from his lips, was becoming the man he hates – our father. My sleepless nights stem from the fact that I can no longer allow my brother to continue this cycle of abuse with his son and daughter. However, am I prepared to stand against my own blood?
Can I be as courageous as I need to be in order to secure the future for his little girl? Will I, if she is victorious with her claims of self dependence from my brother, have the heart to watch my nephew be dragged away by Louisiana Social Services in hopes he may have a chance for a life away from my brother and our father? The chances that the courts would give custody of this wonderful little boy to my older sister, or that she would accept the challenge, might be a fleeting grasp at hope. I know better than to challenge my brother – a drug infested man who will die by these escapes of reality one day soon. Could I even consider if the Louisiana Court system would ever grant custody to a single gay male, the remainder of my family however would object vehemently?
My heart can’t quit get beyond knowing if my actions are disingenuous to my brother, my father or even to myself. Do I even consider such actions as an act of revenge while claiming to have forgiven him for his many aggressions towards an admiring brother? Am I honest with my intent or am I fooling myself. Asking these and many other questions seem only to garner fewer answers than I find additional questions needing to be asked. Can there be any answers found with a clear heart when the operations lead someone to suffer? Who am I to appoint suffering to any person?
Your humble servant – Todd M Dobson
