Commanding the language

I do not remember when my brother was born. I don't remember him coming home from the hospital, nor playing with him or that he even existed in my early years. But there was one memory of him that I can never erase. I am not one to find humour in tragic events but since this happened over 35 years ago, I can joke about it today.

One thing that I did know was that when my brother was born, he became the baby of the family and very close to my mother. She considered him to be a gift from God. After having two daughters, she was waiting for his birth. He was the apple of her eye. And he ultimately replaced my senior status in the family. Oddly enough, I was never jealous of him. He was and still is the sweet boy that occupied a special place in my mother's heart. However, my command of the language did not help elevate this true status according to my parents.

The one memory I have of my brother plays back to me like a movie in slow motion. I came through the door from the house to the garage and was planning to take my bike for a spin. But I heard a piercing scream and saw my baby brother holding his head, jumping up and down with blood tricking from his forehead. I ran over and yelled at him to tell me what happened. He looked towards the cement stairs that led up to the front door of our split level home. I felt sick.

My parents ran out and I remember the look of horror on my mother's face. She ran back in and grabbed a towel. My father picked him up and brought him into the family room where he lay limp in his arms. I consoled my sister who was crying and tried to control my emotions. My mother sat next to him and applied pressure to his head. My father was barking orders to my mother who then ran all over the house to find gauze and the phone book.

The next thing I remember, we were driving in the car to the medical center. Tears streamed down my cheek as I silently cried and prayed for my brother to be alive. He moaned in my mother's arms as my father frantically drove. At the time, I had never been so scared in my life. What was to become of him? When we arrived at the medical center, we were ushered to the waiting room while my father carried my brother in with my mother. I sat alone with my sister and lied by reassuring her everything would be ok. My sister and I hugged each other for support.

A woman noticed that we were left alone and she came over to sit closer to us.

"What happened?" she asked.

I brushed away my tears. "My brother...he...he....."

The woman paused and looked confused. She asked again. "What happened to your brother?"

I tried to string words together. "He fell....down....stairs....head...blood...dying" I blurted and then turned away.

She smiled kindly and told us he would be ok. Just as she got up to move away, we heard my brother screaming. It sent chills up my spine and my sister and I sat still. My mother came out fifteen minutes later.

"They were stitching him up. He was crying about the needle," she said as she wrung her hands. In retrospect, I wondered why the doctors did not use an anesthetic. I tried to be strong in front of her. I got up and hugged her and said that I was looking after my little sister. She only nodded sadly and went back in.

The woman came over again. "Is he ok?"

"He is still cracked. They are sewing him," I explained.

My parents both came out with my brother who entire head was bandaged up. He didn't feel well but was able to talk. I asked him what had happened. He explained that he was trying to reach the mail in the mailbox but he tripped on the top step and fell down the entire flight of cement stairs. On the ride home, I insisted he sit with us in the back seat but my parents were now overprotective of him and he remained in my mother's arms the whole ride home.

My brother made a full recovery and although I do not remember, my father told me later, when I was old enough to understand, that after the incident, he had to constantly correct my diction when I referred to my brother, in front of family, teachers and my parent's friends, as my "crackhead brother."

What did I say?!? I was completely demoted after that.