My Younger Older Brother Part 1

'So which one is the older one?'

Because we are only two years apart, my brother and I got to share many experiences together, like primary school and high school, the school bus, Sunday school, church, and right now, living in Melbourne together.

We used to get that question a bit - when I was in high school, especially, people would mistake me for the older brother. It was because my brother was, shall we say, special.

I've always thought that being the eldest in a family is always the most difficult of all. No one is there to pave the way for you, no one is there for you to look up to, you need to be responsible and set the example. Being a kid, that's always a tough ask.

So my brother grew up the best way he knew how, and was always non-conformist in his behaviour. When all the teenage girls were drooling over boybands, my brother was extolling the beautiful music of James Galway, flautist. Kids around school would laugh at him because he would wear his pants a little higher up, and he basically never cared about what people thought of him.

I continued, on the other hand, to live for the approval of my fellow man (ie. friends and teachers), and so I did my best to fit in at school, making friends with everyone. I was (only slightly) mature beyond my prepubescent years, and I guess, people saw me as normal.

(Okay, you can stop laughing now.)

(Okay, now.)

It also didn't help that I was doing better in school than he was, gaining the approval of my teachers and friends.

And so, understandably, in high school, seniors would come up to me and ask 'Hey, that one your brother ah? He's the older one ah?' barely masking their surprise. I would always smile shyly, almost apologetically whenever people ask that question. He wasn't exactly cool/'in', and I was trying my best to be.

This subtle embarrassment started from an early age, as in this illustration:

We used to play in this playground near our house, and the times we spent there is another story in itself.

It was a playground that had all your usual trappings - imagine a playground like today - see-saws, swings, monkey bars, chin up bars - but instead of the colourful safe plastic material that all kids enjoy today, everything was made out of metal and wood.

We used to like this girl on the playground (why is there always a girl involved?) and we were both, among the other boys who played with us, vying for her attention. I can't remember the game that we were playing that evening - I think it was police and thief - and my brother was trying to impress with his speed.

Somehow he ended up cutting open his chin on the side of one of the wooden platforms. All the kids were standing over him, aghast. 'He slipped because he run too fast,' whispered one. Everyone watched this pitiful bleeding mass, groaning in pain.

Seeing her, he got up, slowly. He was groaning a bit in pain, but he did his best to be brave about it. I don't know why, I can't explain the way little kids think, but I was embarrassed to be there at that moment. I started walking home first, and he followed behind. The other kids dispersed, the evening abruptly ending.

He trailed behind me, calling out to me in pain, to please slow down, but all I did was walk away a little faster.

I don't understand what happened that evening, but all I know was that the same attitude defined our high school years. Of course, it wasn't a physical walking away, but emotionally, and in my mind, I have, regrettably, left him standing on his own countless times.