Dear Little Brother,

08Apr08

Growing up Tita C always used to press me,

 

“Ask your parents for a little brother?”

 

I didn’t know I was supposed to ask.  I liked being on my own and having my parents undivided attention.  But sometimes, late at night, when I was hiding from evil porcelain dolls and paper mache clowns, I wished you were there little brother.

 

I never wanted a little sister.  I imagined that if I had a little sister, she’d be the girlie girl Mama wanted.  And I couldn’t have that.  Instead I wanted a little brother to play with, to show the ropes, to get to do my shnarky bidding. 

 

So ever year around christmas, when I wrote my letter santa.  I asked for the latest, coolest, raddest toy, a million dollars, a pony (which I never really wanted. kids on tv always asked for pony’s, so I thought I was supposed to as well), and a little brother.  The latest, collest, raddest toy didn’t really come.  The million dollars didn’t either.  And I’m glad I never got a pony.

 

But little brother…

 

I secretly wished for you to come, even when I found Santa’s christmas wrapping paper in mom’s collection.  Even when I put two and two together that Santa’s handwriting was strikingly similar to mom’s.

 

You see little brother, if you were around I wouldn’t have had to go at it alone.  When I sat crying on the sidewalk of Lola’s convalescent home, you could’ve been there to cry with me.  When I numbingly sat through Hook at 3am, while dad talked to mom’s doctor, you could’ve been there to chant “RU-FI-OOOOO” with me too.  When I sat in on family gatherings while pops stayed home with a bottle of scotch, you could’ve stood by me. 

 

All that’s now in the past. 

And you’re still not around. 

But little brother…

 

I still wish you were here.

 

Take care,

Elaine

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