image: chrisroll
Oh Brother!
About six months ago a thought popped in to my head – I wonder what it’s like to have an older brother? The sad thing is I do have an older brother, I had just forgotten this fact. You see, although I believe my brother loves me, would be gutted if something happened to me, at the same time, he really doesn’t care at all about me or, more importantly, my son.
When my son was born, my brother drove hundreds of miles to come and meet him. I had been given a 50% chance of surviving the birth, and as I’d had pre-eclampsia, seeing my blood pressure rise and kidney function drop, it was a major relief to be alive to be a mum. My brother came in to the room, took my newborn in his arms, stood with his back against a wall as if scared he was going to drop him, and shed a subtle tear. When he was a toddler, my brother would shower him with kisses, swing him up on to his shoulders and show him lots of attention.
In recent years, though, this has changed. I don’t know why. Indeed, my brothers treatment of my son has changed so much that I can no longer go to his house to see my nieces for fear of an argument ensuing. Let me explain. The last time we were there, my son had gone to the toilet and then to the kitchen to wash his hands. “What are you doing?” I heard my brother demand in low tones. My son didn’t respond due to nerves. “Answer me when I talk to you, boy!” my brother then bellowed at him. My little niece defended my son “He’s only washing his hands Daddy”. My partner and I stayed silent, too shocked to say anything, my face turning a violent crimson with rage. I hadn’t missed the ‘look’ shared by my brother and sister and law, a
look that said nothing good. My partner and I made our excuses and left, taking my silent son with us. My brother hugged me goodbye, but didn’t say adieu to my son. He was 7 years old at the time.
Upset, I called my mother as soon as we were home to tell her what had happened. “I am never taking your son there again” she told me. “I am sick of the way he talks to your son. He only ever speaks to him to have a go at him, never to have a normal conversation.” If I had known this before, I wouldn’t have gone down there myself. I missed my newest niece’s first
birthday because if I had gone down again and my brother had treated my son in the same way, I would have had to have said something, an argument would have then followed, and I really didn’t want to ruin the memory of such a monumental
birthday.
The last time I saw my brother, he came to my house. He was his usual self and didn’t stay too long, but at least I got to cuddle and kiss my beautiful nieces. My brother, on the other hand, didn’t even acknowledge his nephew. He didn’t utter one word of conversation to him during the couple of hours he was here. As my son is now scared of his uncle, he didn’t try to make conversation with him. When my brother left, once again, he didn’t even say goodbye to him. Now, if my son was horrible to his
children, I could sort of understand, but my oldest niece loves her cousin, they get on like a house on fire.
It’s my son’s tenth birthday today and it’s the third birthday in a row that he has not received a birthday card from his uncle,
and the third birthday in a row that I have received a text saying his card is in the post from his aunt. I had enough. I had enough and texted my brother telling him this, saying no card would come at all if it weren’t for his wife and that he is a crap uncle – I also asked what has my son ever done to him? Nothing, of course, he’s just a child. And my brother just doesn’t care. He is my son’s only biological uncle and he doesn’t care. If he hadn’t been a loving uncle when my son was small, perhaps I could
manage to find a reason for it. As it stands, all I can see area a host of issues left over from my father and our childhood, times when my feckless father filled my brother’s head full of negative thoughts about my mother, warping his mind.
This, though, is no excuse for my brother’s behaviour. He is an adult now. A father who should know how much a simple thing like a birthday card on you actual birthday matters to a child. He should know, by having a largely absent father, how important a close male relative is to a young boy. He should know, just by being human, that ignoring a child, only talking
at them to shout at them, is not how you build esteem in little ones.
The last time my brother came to this area, he didn’t come to see us at all. My eldest niece wanted to come over and see us (illustrating the fact that she likes us despite not seeing us much – take note brother), but my brother said no for no reason. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised at that. When I was in hospital for a month, crying down the phone and begging him
to come and see me, he didn’t come then either.
So yes, today I sent my brother a text, standing up for my son and lambasting him for being a crap uncle. He has replied, but I haven’t been brave enough to read it yet, as I know an argument could easily ensue and there was probably no point in me saying anything to him at all. My words will fall on deaf ears, only adding more fuel to the flames of his obvious disdain for my mother and I but why should I keep my feelings in? I am sick of seeing him be so nice to his friends, so nice on Facebook when all along he treats his mother, nephew and myself like shit. We really haven’t done anything that bad to him. In the past I have tried. I have had him take a hoover pipe to my legs, had him tell me one teenage Christmas Eve that I should commit suicide as nobody wanted me around. It wasn’t always that way. When I was little, when I was hurt, it was him I screamed for. That has changed to this day. He has though. He has changed. Where we are concerned he is selfish, hurtful and aloof. Nasty. The day I told him I had arthritis he called, not to see how I was, but to talk to me about him. I was shocked but not surprised.
He loves me, but he doesn’t care.
I care though, I care that he is no uncle to my son. I care that I can’t look at his Facebook photos without starting to cry, my heartbroken the loss of a brother.
And I care that one day about six months ago, I forgot that I had big brother at all.
About six months ago a thought popped in to my head – I wonder what it’s like to have an older brother? The sad thing is I do have an older brother, I had just forgotten this fact. You see, although I believe my brother loves me, would be gutted if something happened to me, at the same time, he really doesn’t care at all about me or, more importantly, my son.
When my son was born, my brother drove hundreds of miles to come and meet him. I had been given a 50% chance of surviving the birth, and as I’d had pre-eclampsia, seeing my blood pressure rise and kidney function drop, it was a major relief to be alive to be a mum. My brother came in to the room, took my newborn in his arms, stood with his back against a wall as if scared he was going to drop him, and shed a subtle tear. When he was a toddler, my brother would shower him with kisses, swing him up on to his shoulders and show him lots of attention.
In recent years, though, this has changed. I don’t know why. Indeed, my brothers treatment of my son has changed so much that I can no longer go to his house to see my nieces for fear of an argument ensuing. Let me explain. The last time we were there, my son had gone to the toilet and then to the kitchen to wash his hands. “What are you doing?” I heard my brother demand in low tones. My son didn’t respond due to nerves. “Answer me when I talk to you, boy!” my brother then bellowed at him. My little niece defended my son “He’s only washing his hands Daddy”. My partner and I stayed silent, too shocked to say anything, my face turning a violent crimson with rage. I hadn’t missed the ‘look’ shared by my brother and sister and law, a
look that said nothing good. My partner and I made our excuses and left, taking my silent son with us. My brother hugged me goodbye, but didn’t say adieu to my son. He was 7 years old at the time.
Upset, I called my mother as soon as we were home to tell her what had happened. “I am never taking your son there again” she told me. “I am sick of the way he talks to your son. He only ever speaks to him to have a go at him, never to have a normal conversation.” If I had known this before, I wouldn’t have gone down there myself. I missed my newest niece’s first
birthday because if I had gone down again and my brother had treated my son in the same way, I would have had to have said something, an argument would have then followed, and I really didn’t want to ruin the memory of such a monumental
birthday.
The last time I saw my brother, he came to my house. He was his usual self and didn’t stay too long, but at least I got to cuddle and kiss my beautiful nieces. My brother, on the other hand, didn’t even acknowledge his nephew. He didn’t utter one word of conversation to him during the couple of hours he was here. As my son is now scared of his uncle, he didn’t try to make conversation with him. When my brother left, once again, he didn’t even say goodbye to him. Now, if my son was horrible to his
children, I could sort of understand, but my oldest niece loves her cousin, they get on like a house on fire.
It’s my son’s tenth birthday today and it’s the third birthday in a row that he has not received a birthday card from his uncle,
and the third birthday in a row that I have received a text saying his card is in the post from his aunt. I had enough. I had enough and texted my brother telling him this, saying no card would come at all if it weren’t for his wife and that he is a crap uncle – I also asked what has my son ever done to him? Nothing, of course, he’s just a child. And my brother just doesn’t care. He is my son’s only biological uncle and he doesn’t care. If he hadn’t been a loving uncle when my son was small, perhaps I could
manage to find a reason for it. As it stands, all I can see area a host of issues left over from my father and our childhood, times when my feckless father filled my brother’s head full of negative thoughts about my mother, warping his mind.
This, though, is no excuse for my brother’s behaviour. He is an adult now. A father who should know how much a simple thing like a birthday card on you actual birthday matters to a child. He should know, by having a largely absent father, how important a close male relative is to a young boy. He should know, just by being human, that ignoring a child, only talking
at them to shout at them, is not how you build esteem in little ones.
The last time my brother came to this area, he didn’t come to see us at all. My eldest niece wanted to come over and see us (illustrating the fact that she likes us despite not seeing us much – take note brother), but my brother said no for no reason. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised at that. When I was in hospital for a month, crying down the phone and begging him
to come and see me, he didn’t come then either.
So yes, today I sent my brother a text, standing up for my son and lambasting him for being a crap uncle. He has replied, but I haven’t been brave enough to read it yet, as I know an argument could easily ensue and there was probably no point in me saying anything to him at all. My words will fall on deaf ears, only adding more fuel to the flames of his obvious disdain for my mother and I but why should I keep my feelings in? I am sick of seeing him be so nice to his friends, so nice on Facebook when all along he treats his mother, nephew and myself like shit. We really haven’t done anything that bad to him. In the past I have tried. I have had him take a hoover pipe to my legs, had him tell me one teenage Christmas Eve that I should commit suicide as nobody wanted me around. It wasn’t always that way. When I was little, when I was hurt, it was him I screamed for. That has changed to this day. He has though. He has changed. Where we are concerned he is selfish, hurtful and aloof. Nasty. The day I told him I had arthritis he called, not to see how I was, but to talk to me about him. I was shocked but not surprised.
He loves me, but he doesn’t care.
I care though, I care that he is no uncle to my son. I care that I can’t look at his Facebook photos without starting to cry, my heartbroken the loss of a brother.
And I care that one day about six months ago, I forgot that I had big brother at all.