No matter what we think, we are TAUGHT to love. It is not what we are told, but what we see that gives those lessons.
So, the year is 1992; one of two years that this blog centers around (the other being '79, the year my b-mom was killed). My brother has opened the door to a huge secret of my heritage. In most stories, that would probably be the "happy ending". Brothers are reunited, truths have been revealed, and an end to the life I knew. What do you think happened then? Me, Joe, and Scott began our loving relationship as family? Not quite.
The week Joe came to town, he got to spend the week with me (see previous post). I think it was sad that we had to beg my a-mom for this "favor". Hesitantly, she allowed him to stay. The first night, we were up late. We laughed and talked until the wee hours. My a-mom barged in and threatened to send him back to Dallas, if we didn't keep it down. She was not above using guilt or threats as a way of expression.
That same year is the year my a-mom passed away. Joe moved down (I later found out that my a-dad had called him and asked for help with me because he was worried about my welfare).
When Joe moved in, I was estatic...for about 10 min. Joe hit the streets with a vengance, meeting everyone in the neighborhood (especially the women). He had wanted me to go running with him, but I was different. I can't blame it on how I was raised, or just being gay. I was simply a kid who went to church every Sunday, pressed to be perfect by my a-mom. My morale compass was working overtime, while Joe's seemed to be broken. I was furious with him. I had lost around 12 or 13 years with him and was insistant on catching up on lost time.
The thing I did not realize about Joe until now, is that he had one goal almost his entire life; to find me. It was not about catching up, re-hashing the past, or any of that. He was a 17 year old teenager, who had lost so much and lived a less than charmed life. It was simply about having his brothers in his life.Once he did, everything else was straight in his world.
For me, it was all about grasping the fact that I had a brother and getting used to him...hell, getting used to any of this being real. I was trying to bond and get to know him. I was a serious and mature kid (for my age anyway). I was standing at a fish bowl that was this other life, tapping on the glass. Joe was swimming around oblivous to much. I had this new life waiting; controlling, but loving mother passed away and a new set of brothers.
There was one or two occassions that we made plans, but he didn't show due to hanging out with one girl or another. That was the kind of crap I had gone through with my a-brother (adopted), Willie. I spent my entire life with him making promises that he did not keep.
It happened one too many times and along with the secret that I was "gay", the loss of my mom, the mental decent of my father, the family falling apart...blah, blah, blah...I had a nervous breakdown. I was in my room when I began crying. It built into me getting physical with the furniture. I grabbed pictures and books and threw them. I took the drawers out of my dresser and flung them (with contents). I took scissors to a few stuffed animals. The room was a wreck. I fell asleep in the middle of it all.
I eventually got up and went to the kitchen. That's where I was when Joe came home and found the destruction. I remember his voice and tone when he came into the room. "Chris! What happened to your room?" I refused to answer, at first.
That was the start of one of many explosive arguments. Joe tried. He really did. I tried, too. We needed more help, though...to cope with everything that had happened and to cope with each other.
At one point, we added Scott to the mix (see "Perfect Weather For A Kidnapping" blog). Scott and Joe already had a relationship. Though they didn't see each other THAT much, they knew of each other and had spent time as brothers. So, when Scott came, I was just that much more of the odd man out. There was constant fighting, it seemed. Joe was chasing "love" from the girls in town. Scott wasn't thinking for himself, because Joe was thinking for him. Then, there was me. I was afraid of what they were doing to my home, the guy that killed mom, and life without my a-mom's guidance. Even the very night that Scott came to my house, we fought. Joe had friends over and they began to harass and make fun of the guy that brought us from Dallas. I was furious. This guy had rescued Scott, in my mind, from his grandmother. He deserved thanks. (Maybe Joe will share the details of "Brother Bob"...maybe he won't). Point is, our first night together was as special as a natural disaster.
We got Scott in school, made space for him in one of the bedrooms, and thus set off the six month, testosterone fest that was my house. Yet, the illusion of building this life with my brothers was destroyed. See, we had stolen my brother from Dallas...from our grandmother, who threatened to blow my brains out with a shotgun for taking Scott. She proceeded to tell me how I had no family in Dallas, no one wanted me around, and that I was only a bad memory of my b-mom, her daughter, Judy. Not long after that, she came with the police. I looked to my a-dad, and he said there was nothing he could do right then. He wasn't an aggressive man anyway, but I think he would have helped if he could have. I was crushed.
Not long after that, Joe left. I was alone. I was losing everything I loved; mom's to death, dad to his own depression (will cover later), Scott to grandma BJ, and Joe to our inability to find peace.
It was going to be a LONG road to reunification.
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