Even after a decade away from the Hatchville Shipyard, I have found that living with a sibling still provides a healthy dose of harassment and rivalry. Remember your last boss who operated as if she was omnipotent in her appointed station over you sorry underlings? Well, somewhere out there she has a brother or sister who holds the unique power to swiftly revert her to a pitiful, short-tempered five year-old.
It’s the law of the jungle inside the home, and that’s probably why so many people hate putting up with family time at the holidays. They never really learned how to survive in this environment, and thus going home is the equivalent of volunteering for the lead role in “The Most Dangerous Game.” I am not immune to this experience- instead I just try not to let my emotions show when my siblings are getting the best of me. One thing is for certain: there’s nothing like a brother or a sister to simultaneously push your buttons and push your limits, for better or for worse.
“You might not want to go upstairs for a little while. John and I are kind of at war right now.”
I delivered this word of warning to my father after waking up, opening my bedroom door and seeing that it was going to take a little longer than usual to get across the threshold:
Photo courtesy of the brother, of course. You may have seen it posted on Facebook.
I managed to excavate my way out of the bedroom and plot a counter-attack. My brother has two doorways to his room, so I need to not only drag this mattress to one entryway, but I also must utilize a desk, trunk, and several boxes to make his exit a true physical feat. I lock his other point of egress with my suitcase and then compliment myself at such resourcefulness. This was day two of mattress wars.
It’s not my fault by the way- I didn’t start it!
I believe it all began when I opened my bedroom door and there was a twin mattress laying sarcastically in the doorway. Wiseguy brother. I dragged it over in front of his bedroom door, and then went down cellar to help him sheetrock. This is a prime example of how siblings are able to push your buttons.
Who gave the officer sharp objects?
I’m working down there, and my brother is real great about showing the dumb naval officer how to measure, chalk, cut and screw sheetrock into 2x4s. I know he can probably do all this at least twice as quickly without me poking around, but he gives no impression that this is the case. I feel like I’m some non-skilled “celebrity” who has been thrown onto one of those shows where they must perform highly specialized tasks that they have no business attempting. Still, my brother is as patient as can be, and before I know it I am independently executing his orders while he works on something else in the room. For the second time in one day, I have done something with the help of my brother that I never thought I would do. And it’s primarily because he told me to just do it. These are two fine examples of how siblings can effortlessly push your perceived limits.
He’s saying, “Look what I found on the ice!”
After already spending the day transferring wood, sheetrock and other household material around, I went out and “played” an hour of hockey with my brother. It was a serious mental and physical event, but it was also a lot of fun. My brother is a great teacher, but he also wasn’t afraid to let his little brother tendencies shine through. After telling me to fall and test out the layers of protective equipment that were strapped to my body, I stupidly told him that it was hard to make myself fall. Cue the goalie in six hundred pounds of gear charging at me, and before I know it I am knocked over like a lemonade stand. Thanks, bro.
Just testing out the equipment…
So back down in the cellar, I eventually tire and decide not to risk screwing the webbing of my hand into the wall. I head to bed just before midnight and am greeted not by my bedroom door, but by that damn mattress again. Somehow it made its way back to my room without raising my instinctive suspicion during the evening.
“That slippery bastard! I’ll fix him!”
I’m exhausted from my day, but I have boundless reserves of adversarial energy to point towards my wily sibling. I drag the mattress into his bedroom and create a double mattress bed, complete with pillows and blankets on top. I imagine that whenever the crazy goalie runs out of steam down cellar, he’ll be too tired to do anything but sleep on top of that precarious mountain. For the moment I have the upper hand in this battle.
The advantage is short-lived, and I was wrong about his energy reserves. He not only finished sheetrocking the cellar before going to bed, but he then came upstairs and created a fine barricade without ever drawing me out of slumber’s sweet oblivion. You know the rest of the story.
This afternoon we finally called a truce after my father nearly killed himself in trying to reach the computer room. It was fun, but somehow I don’t think the back-and-forth is over.
I just saw this waiting for me the last time I walked into the bathroom:
The battle continues.