8Tomorrow is March 28th. My little brother's 23rd birthday. This is the second birthday in a row he will spend in prison. Selling illegal firearms to an undercover cop is never a good idea.
My brother and I have never been close. We always both fought, mostly physically, and I thought it was normal kid brother stuff. He didn't start acting up bad til he hit puberty. He used to break into my mom's house and rob her. He took a wedding ring set that was supposed to be mine when I got married, her class ring, and another ring my grandmother gave my mother and traded it for beer. It was all real. Real gold, real diamonds and jewels. The wedding set alone had been appraised at $20,000. For. Beer.
When I moved from Arizona to Colorado he started fucking up bad. He starting putting his hands on my mom. And my mom is not little, by any means. 5'9 and 180, she can fuck your world up. But she just called the cops and had his ass arrested.
He attempted suicide three times. He died three times. He was resuscitated three times. My mom finally out him into a rehab program in Texas. She didn't know what to do anymore. While in Texas he underwent therapy and CT scans. They diagnosed him ADHD and bi-polar. They put him on lithium and god knows whatever else. And it helped. When he took his medication he was reasonable. But he thought he could control himself and didn't want to rely on medication. It didn't work.
Fast forward to now. I guess you can say that this story is more about my Dad than my brother. My Dad had proclaimed to my Mom years before that I was hers and Vincent was his. I love my Dad. I do. I have a much better relationship with him than my mother. But damn, the things he does hurts.
My Dad is not at all my Dad, biologically. My mom met him when I was four, Vincent was one, and he has been raising us ever since. My parents broke up when I was nine. He still helped raise us. We were spoiled rotten brats because of him. He never told us no, and we always got our way. He seemed to be a little harder on Vincent, though.
Back to now. 3/27/12. I haven't spoken to my Dad since 2/22/12. Is that unusual? Nope. Am I angry? Yep. I call him and leave him voicemails and I don't hear back for months. WTF?
My Dad once told me that once Vince is out of jail he won't have time to talk to me much because he will be dealing with Vincent's shit. Vincent never does anything wrong. The only thing that fucked with us kids is our mother. His words. And Vincent hates our mom because of him.
My mom is not a bad person. Has she said things that weren't right? Yes. She always apologized. When it came to Vince and discipline I don't think she would change anything. She wasn't perfect. But she didn't drink, didn't do drugs, and mostly worked two jobs to support us. Yep, Vincent, she sure did fuck you up, huh? Coming from the one in prison and the one that wouldn't feed his two year old daughter anything but McDonalds. She's the evil one. Okay.
What right does my dad have to put this all in her heard? Who the fuck does he think he is to demoralize a mother's character to her son? I am so angry for her just as a mother that it isn't even funny. I love my Dad so much, but I just want to punch him in the face right now.
And for my Dad to ignore me because he is just "too busy" with Vincent? Who the fuck do you think you are?! Vincent is a piece of shit. Vincent doesn't deserve all of your time, your money, your resources, the car he wrecked of yours, your support. All you have to do is love him, and you don't even really have to do that! Stop enabling. Everybody... take some responsibility for your own goddamn actions, and stop blaming it on poor mom, 3,000 miles away!
What about your daughter?! You know, the one that is alone day in and day out in Colorado. The one that has never been to jail, the one that doesn't even have a traffic ticket. The one going to college to try and better herself. Doesn't she need you too? Don't you think she hears it in your voice? The favoritism?
"Heather, when Vincent gets out of jail, I won't have time to really talk to you. You understand, right?"
Yeah, Dad, I understand. I understand you love your deadbeat son more than your own daughter. I understand that you don't need to talk to me. I totally get it, Dad. Because that's who I am. I don't want to hurt your feelings because you are not obligated to let us call you Dad. We are privileged.
Fuck you, Vincent.
And fuck you, Dad.
Maybe I will "be" Moms.
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