I didn’t know too much of why my brother was not like me. I learned more as I grew up. I learned that mama was very young when she had me. Why people said that she was a baby giving birth to a baby.
I probably wouldn’t have understood that if someone had spoken to me about this topic when I was a kid but I am grown up enough now to get it. I was the first born. I don’t know what mama and dad really thought about me.
I imagine I was a cute baby because aren’t most babies just so adorable looking? We all know that raising kids is much more about looks though, right? It takes a lot of patience and love and plenty of money. I don’t know if mama ever did work. I can’t remember her working when I was real young.
I do remember my dad working because he wasn’t home as much as mama. When I was a teenager, I learned he had two jobs. He worked at a bowling alley setting up pins and he also worked at a skating rink. Our daddy was a real good dad, because he had two jobs. I do remember some sad things though too.
He and mama fought a lot. She was always yelling and he yelled right back. Sometimes they threw things at each other and I often heard her accuse him of being a cheater. I know now what that meant. Daddy would always scream right back at her saying he wasn’t one of those.
Mama cried a lot and daddy would always leave the room or go outside. You know, those kinds of things I think I will always remember. From the fairy tale books I got at Christmas; I don’t think we had one of those at our house.
Well, things weren’t real bad until mama brought my little brother home one day from the hospital. That’s when the real fighting took place. I don’t think they had too many good days and my brother cried a lot and I think that was because of all the shouting throughout the house.
Mama started paying less attention to me and I didn’t see her spend very much time with my brother. I think now that I look back; she was just too young to be a mother, especially to two children. She wasn’t grown-up enough to handle it. For years after all this happened, I used to wonder why God allowed her to have us kids. Maybe we were bad kids; I don’t remember whether I was good or not. I do remember that one day I just started checking on my brother more and more.
I learned how to change his diapers and I knew how to give him his bottle of milk. I can remember getting on the floor with him and trying to play with his toys for him. He never paid too much the toys so I would just sit and talk to him. I would hold his fingers in my hand and try to make him feel better.
My brother and I never spent a lot of time playing together. I will explain that in another chapter. I always knew something was wrong with him because I didn’t cry like he did and I was walking and he didn’t walk for a long time after I did, but he was my brother and I grew up watching over him the best I could.
To be continued…