soozphotoz: Christmas Tantrums & Bedrails

Eddie, Santa and Me

When we were children, my parents would tote my little brother and I downtown to see the Christmas displays and ultimately sit on Santa's lap. Before we reached that final glorious destination, however, we waited for what seemed an eternity meandering through a long line disguised as Santa's Playground. When we finally reached Santa's lap, my brother wasn't the least bit pleased with the result; he screamed, he writhed, he practically convulsed...and I cannot help but think that in the deepest, darkest crevices of my heart, I was pleased. Yes, this proved that I, not he, was the good child and that he was the naughty one. From this photo it appears that I am gaging my parent's reaction to be certain that they made the same judgment as Santa.

In the years to follow, it was Eddie who carved his name in his bedroom door with a screwdriver. It was Eddie who in a fit, threw his slipper down the hallway to knock over and break the Stiffel lamp. It was Eddie who fell from bed and fractured his skull. (After this incident, he had a long aluminum railing that slipped between the box spring and mattress. Every year around Christmas, we would remove the railing, stand it upright and pretend it was our very own Christmas tree.) And it was Eddie who, at the age of six, was diagnosed with a hole in his heart.

I remember standing at his bedroom door staring at his empty bed while he was in the hospital, feeling remorse for the times I wished that I was the only child. I remember praying for him to return and bargaining with God that I would never be mean to my little brother ever again. Eddie did return home and although they monitored his heart condition, it never caused him any other health problems. A few years later, I broke my brother's little toe by slamming the back door shut on it (so much for promises...but in my defense, slamming was intentional, the broken toe was not). Then I had the nerve to beg him to please, please, please not tell Mom as he howled in pain.

I bossed my brother, I tortured my brother (usually as a retaliation for his own devilish pranks), and I loved my brother with a love that only siblings can share. There is a strange bond that grows between siblings, especially when there are just the two of you, I think. You sometimes fight one another for the attention of your parents and at other times unite not so much against them, as to save your own necks.

In our later years as teens, I remained stayed the course as the child who always got straight A's, rarely questioned authority, and for the most part, did as was expected of me (I had a dreadfully dull teenage life.) It was Ed who was the "typical" teen engaging in things that I won't mention here and would never have "ratted" about to my parents. To this day, I'm sure sure that either of us have told my parents that I used to let my brother drive frequently when I had my license but he was only 14 or so.

When I selected the photo for today, I really had no idea what I might write about...and why about my brother when he'll probably never see this. Still, maybe I just want someone out there to know how my Christmas's past, present, and future will somehow always be tied to my little brother throwing a Santa tantrum, a bed rail aluminum tree, and a brother for whom I'll always be grateful (even if he does tell mom I let him drive...for which, incidentally, I would still get into trouble!)