Grace and Peace,
Those of you who know me can appreciate the irony of this blog title. Those of you who know me know that I don’t really get angry at people so much as at situations and injustices. Those of you who know me and my little brother know a few things: we are silly, we get along great, we’re about the same height, I get IRATE WHEN HE WEARS MY CLOTHES!! I’m not asking for a lot. Just don’t wear my clothes. Preppy musician wear doesn’t really fit drummers anyway.
Today, I walked into my house after a long day of solfege, tritone subs, and rhythmic dictations. My feet were also killing me. I walk in, take out the garbage, joke with my mom and head toward my room to test out this new wall adapter I’d just bought. As I walk toward my room, my brother heads out of his. We exchange a silly glance… but in his glance is something more, something guilty. I immediately go into observation mode. The white polo he’s wearing catches an eye.. my eye. MY POLO! I had spent approximately 10 minutes searching the newly washed white clothes for that shirt to no avail! To see him wearing it brought me back to the frustration of being off schedule and in my undies, fighting to plan another outfit.
now time out: I guess it would help you to know that this kid does this ALL THE TIME. On several occasions I came home to find him in my shirt or jeans. A few times recently I caught him trying to leave the house in my clothes, and two of those times he stole the clothes from my top bunk (which is where I keep the outfit I’m wearing before I put it on)! After the first 3 times I told him I’d punch him. After the 5th time I actually started punching him. He knew the deal. Back to your irregularly scheduled blog.
So i say to him, “I bet you that’s my shirt”. Had his response been “What are you talking about”, “That’s how much you know,” or some kind of semi-confident quip, I would’ve believed him. Instead he tried to pretend he was going into my parents room. Mind you, no one was in there. And the lights are off. And IT’S MY PARENTS ROOM. So check the tag and punch him in the chest. I punched him lightly but any kind of chest hit will sound loud because of the hollow acoustics. That’s why we hear our heartbeats and bang on our chests to seem tough. So after I get my shirt, and yell at him my mom is like:
“Don’t hit him”
and I go “Well, i told him not to wear my clothes”
“Well, tell him don’t hit him”
“.. i ‘told him’ like 12 times already.”
“Well then tell us.”
“You’ve heard me tell him!”
Now in HS i had serious issues with the favoritism and fact that it’s SO obvious, but I’m a grown man now; I’m over that. But recently it’s just been getting out of hand. And then my Dad chimes in with some good old pseudo-wisdom:
“You know, it’s a weak person who has to resort to violence to get his way.”
?! What? A weak person wouldn’t resort to violence, or anything for that matter, because they’re weak. They wouldn’t confront it at all. If they HAD to address the issue, it wouldn’t be confrontational. They’d connive, con, sneak or manipulate. My response:
“No, it’s a nice person who has leniency and forgiveness when what he wants is disregarded”
Not badly worded, but in hindsight I wish I wouldn’t have made it so local. I could’ve addressed an issue that faces our whole generation by saying
“No. it’s a weak person who won’t take action in a situation where it is clearly necessary.”
DANG! I need a time machine!
..Maybe heroes will cheer me up
