The line of dialed calls on my phone is a sad sight—it reads ""Bro, Bro, Bro, Bro."" Yes, I'm trying to call my brother, and no, he's not picking up. It not only makes me angry, but saddens me that I (the more sophisticated, older sister) am desperately attempting to contact Ben (my detached, seemingly soulless sibling). Things should be the other way around.
I sometimes sit and wonder ""Where did I go wrong with him? Why does he show more enthusiasm toward rocks than the person he shares DNA with?"" Then my mind wanders back to an afternoon when I was about 10 and my brother was five. He was peacefully napping on the couch when I eagerly suggested to my friend, who was over at the time, that we ""give Ben a makeover."" She thought it was a good idea too.
So down the stairs we crept with my mom's makeup box in hand where we kneeled in front of his little face while he softly snored. Then we dove in. I applied the blue eye shadow and she continued with the blush. After that came the pink lipstick and a heavy load of eyeliner. This went on for approximately three minutes. But as I pulled my hand back to view my creation, his horrified eyes met mine—and then screams.
My mom rushed in thinking that one of us had been stabbed, then looked at my brother and back at me. I sat with my mouth open and eyeliner still in hand. She grabbed my brother and took him away to scrub his face. In between his shrieks, all I could make out was, ""Julia... how can... not a doll... so much trouble!""
Needless to say, Ben emerged from the bathroom looking like a premature drag queen, my friend had to go home and I was forced to write an essay about why it's important to respect family members. I remember writing, ""It's not nice to treat someone the way you wouldn't want to be treated, especially when you're bigger and stronger and know better than them."" But honestly, I didn't see what the big deal was—I always felt lovely after getting my makeup done.
And nine years later, the kid still holds it against me. The one time I did get in touch with him in the past three weeks, our conversation went something like this:
""Hey Ben, what's up? I miss you buddy.""
""Yo.""
""So how's freshman year going? Hard classes?
""It's fine.""
""Well, what about soccer and band?""
""Fine.""
""Um... awesome. Anyway, I was calling to see if you wanted to come up sometime soon; come hang out with your big sis.""
""Why would I do that?""
When a conversation ends like that, it's typically a bad sign. Especially since I sincerely want to spend time with my brother and regret what I did those many moons ago.
So younger brothers and sisters, when your siblings are jerks to you, try to remember it's hard being older. The guinea pig situation is no fun; plus they're probably paving a smoother, more lenient parental road for your future. Designate a few hours for them, show an interest in their life, or at least pick up their friggin' phone call. It's really not that difficult. But then again, they probably haven't caused beauty products to haunt your dreams or permanently damaged your masculinity... crap.
