My brother’s 50th birthday

It’s my brother’s 50th birthday today.

It’s extremely odd to think back, say, 40 years to when he was ten and we were children living with our sister, mother and her parents after our father had just left.

I don’t recall if we were close or how bad we fought in the way that brothers fight. The memories don’t even seem to be mine, more like the vague recollections of some film I once saw. Either I was a different person then, or it’s Alzheimer’s disease! No, hang on, isn’t that supposed to trap you in the distant past? Phew, maybe I’ve not got Alzheimer’s. Maybe it’s just a very very long time ago.

So, anyway, life’s adventures meant that my family drifted apart and weren’t close. Or maybe it was me. Maybe I was outcast. Or maybe I rejected them. But, no, I think we were never a very close family, and I was probably the most independent one, feeling the need to flea and save my head from what at the time seemed to be bad stuff constantly heaped upon me by my mother. I was guilty of sins like breathing and being alive. Running was the best option at the time.

Well, that was then, and this is now. I can’t remember the details any more. It’s just always been ‘this way’ for all of my extensive adult life. How and why aren’t important to me any more, neither is reconciliation or anything for what mad people might call ‘closure’. It just ‘is’.

A few years ago I re-established slightly more regular contact with my brother (Did I mention it’s his 50th birthday today?) and then it drifted again to just being the exchanging cards at Christmas and Birthdays that it is now. Meanwhile, he seemed to be busy begatting children with his new wife, and being ‘normal’ (Lucky bastard!!).

I’m not dissing that ‘normality’. I always wish that my life had had some kind of ‘normality’ to it, but we are who we are. We do what we do. We go where we go. So be it.

Oddly, I found it quite weird meeting up with him. There I was with my brother but he meant nothing to me. No emotions. No common ground. Nothing. In some ways it was very awkward. In others it was safe and sound. In others it felt competitive (although his life and experiences ‘won’ over mine!). It wasn’t his fault or anything, he was brilliant. It was me.

When friends of mine speak of mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters they seem very attached emotionally. Even if the emotion is anger or jealousy. They have emotions. I have none, but think that maybe I should. I am the odd one out here and accept that. But, that’s the way it is.

Anyway, back to the plot: It’s my brother’s 50th birthday today, and I’ve sent a card. Let’s hope he has a very Happy Birthday, whatever it is that he does.