Clear as Glass
To be clear as glass is to be nearly inconspicuous, yet unerringly independent. This may often be mistaken for the “golden child”. Glass children are the siblings of a mentally or physically disabled individual. These children appear as though they could practically raise themselves, often being called an “easy child”. Though this isn’t the case, and there is nothing easy about it. These qualities are developed overtime due to a lack of parental energy. In my experience, this energy was being disproportionately distributed to my elder brother.
Growing up, I remember all of the older girls at recess befriending me due to their empathy towards me. I was always being told “I feel so bad for you!” and asked “How could you put up with him?”. I envied them. I envied them because what they saw from him in public was immensely better than what I saw at home. I envied them because they didn’t have to go home to the brother that I had to go home to. My yearning for a normal childhood like theirs, clear as glass.
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Though, what I remember even more than those clueless older girls, were the weekly fluorescent red and blue flashing lights through my bedroom window. The sounds of me struggling to pin the lock-less bedroom door of our 100-year-old home closed with my little ten year old body, as he relentlessly slammed his seemingly much stronger body against the other side, wanting nothing more than to hurt me. The stomping of the police officers’ boots rushing up our creaky stairway as I watch in the distance, clear as glass. The sounds of the officers struggling to detain him due to his immense resistance despite being just a little boy. Those older girls didn’t have to endure that kind of fear, they didn’t have to go to their grandparents in the middle of the night in order to still make it to school in the morning because their manic older brother wanted to injure everyone in sight, including his own self. The only fear they knew was the fear of my brother chasing them around with a more-than-likely stolen wedding band, harassing them to be his future wife. That embarrassing, yet “seemingly” still kind-hearted little boy is all those girls knew him as. For me, he was my worst nightmare. My lingering fear of him, still clear as glass.
Things didn’t change much further into our adolescence, if anything, things got worse and I had faded further and further into the distance, becoming clearer and clearer. Thus now affecting my friendships and relationships as a whole. Constantly torn between the will to finally be seen, yet still hidden is a contradiction I have still yet to figure out. Continuously being referred to as “mature for my age” as if I got the luxury of a real childhood. I am only mature because I was denied the time and the right to act like a child, and if I wasn’t, the opportunity must have been clear as glass.
Though, after all, I could never harbor resentment for my parents and the lack of their energy. Up until six days ago, his 18th birthday, my parents were held legally and financially responsible for each and every burden my brother ran himself and our family into. I see myself as the support system my parents never knew they would need. Whether it comes to begging my dad not to put anymore of his energy into trying to correct my brother’s irregular and infuriating mindset, or endlessly trying to get my mother to understand his actions are not her fault. I just want them to know that they did their job well. I couldn’t be more proud of my older sisters and myself for coming so far. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if my attempts to let them know these things remain clear as glass.
