On Being Old 7 A Conversation with my Brother

The importance of talking with family continues … 

My brother and I didn’t get along well as kids. I suppose, being siblings, we both thought the other got the more attention – or whatever. However, since we’re much older, we’ve occasionally touched on a topic from our past and life in general.

I am always amazed when he mentions something about our childhood I never knew or realized. And, of course, I say things he never thought about. We agree it’s almost like we grew up in different households. He was certainly treated differently than I. Mum used to tell me he was jealous of me because I was smarter. I used to be envious of him because I felt all the other members of the family treated him better and gave him more things than I ever got.

This is another example telling me how important it is to talk. We saw things differently as kids. We never could have discussed these topics back then without fighting. But now that we have a lifetime of living and experience, we can look back with a more open heart and mind. We need to be able to talk freely; with that, comes a better understanding, and, perhaps, healing from past hurts.

He made a comment about regrets and my mind immediately went to Frank Sinatra’s line, “Regrets, I made a few, but then again, too few to mention …” A few, ha-ha? I try not to have regrets or guilt, but too, working through them helps us grow. The trick is to not let them bring us down, which is one reason to talk about them.

My brother’s biggest regret is his inability to read well. Although he quit school at 16, he still made a good life for himself. He’s always worked hard, had his own landscaping business for years and made a decent wage. It’s sad to hear he’s harbored the regrets of not succeeding in school. He wondered why Dad and Mum didn’t push us harder to succeed. (My reply was that they didn’t know how or even understand why that was important. It was the time and area we grew up in, not that they were bad parents.)

Dyslexia wasn’t a known diagnosis when we were kids. Not being able to read well put you into the lesser classes … not being able to read was seen more like being stupid or too lazy to try. This was a time when any inability at learning subjected you to … not so good times in school. (And when we were kids, terms like “retard” were often used. Oh, how cruel kids could be.)

How brave my brother is to admit these things now. I admire him for having the courage for talking about how it. And, how sad, that in his later years, it still bothers him. It takes courage to talk about believed failings, to admit feelings, to discuss things before it’s too late. It’s not about, “You did this to me when we were kids.” It’s not about finding fault or bringing up past hurts. It’s about coming to terms with one’s own life and gaining better understanding in humanity. These things can stew inside you your entire life.

What does this have to do with being old? Years ago, we couldn’t have had these kinds of conversations. As kids, there was always a sibling rivalry; always that feeling that Mum liked me better and Dad liked him better. (I can hear the Smothers Brothers saying, “Mom liked you better.”) Now we have the wisdom of lives well-lived (which doesn’t necessarily mean easy).

Why haven’t we talked more? Is there fear of the old terms and hurt feelings resurfacing? Is it fear of admitting guilt about some things? Being embarrassed by feelings of failure? Being afraid to be ridiculed … again? Is it because we were taught you didn’t talk about these things?

It’s important to talk. I think about the conversations I wish I could have now with my Mum, Dad and other relatives. I wish I’d known to ask these things years ago; how to ask them. If I had, would they have answered or brushed me off?

There are questions brewing which I’ll never have answers for. I wish they talked more about issues bottled up inside. Perhaps those conversations could have led to earlier understandings of life and family dynamics.

There’s a need for our own stories to come out and be told. The stories help show what we’ve gone through and overcome. They also help others who also struggle to know they are not alone. We shouldn’t be afraid to share those stories. We are who we are. We’ve come a long way. Let’s celebrate that!