The "Tormenting"

After recently leaving the state to visit my brother, I began to remember how much he used to intimidate me. In actuality, nothing on this trip even triggered any of these memories, but I had to have some reason to randomly start blogging about him, and my recent visit with him was the perfect excuse... even though I meant to write this blog post months ago. Me and procrastination high-fived.

*fllaassshhbaacckk*

So imagine a six-foot tall 16 year-old who's broader than a doorway. Now imagine that this guy is 10 years older than you and makes a hobby out of collecting swords, knives, and other dangerous and deadly weaponry. This guy would be my older brother.

His appearance and obsession with sharp things had nothing to do with the fact that I was afraid of him, however. His bedroom was a different story.

Located upstairs at the very back of the longest hallway in the house was his room. Because the door was always shut, there was no way of knowing whether or not he was in there. But if there is one thing I ever learned from him, it was to never enter his room. Ever. Mom either disagreed with this rule, or she just liked to watch me struggle in agonizing fear, as she could come up with a million different reasons to send me to that unholy place. Every time I approached that door, an overwhelming wave of fear would penetrate me, leaving me literally frozen in front of the door, arm outstretched toward the doorknob, just standing.

I don't even know what I expected to be on the other side of that door, but it was a 50/50 shot. Either my brother was in the room or he wasn't. I'm not sure if I've done a good job expressing the strictness of the "do not enter" rule or not, but it was basically a life or death situation.

If he wasn't in the room, I could bolt in there, retrieve whatever it was my mom wanted out of there, and run out. If he was in there, I had two choices: I could hope he didn't hear the door open, then shut it and tell Mom I couldn't find what she wanted, or I could quietly approach him and explain the situation.

I usually stuck with the former.

There is a reason I made such an effort to play by my brother's rules. My mom has always had a very soft-spot for anyone under the age of 13. Being 6 years-old at the time, I got away with a lot of things that I shouldn't have. My brother saw what was happening, and took it into his hands to discipline me. This usually involved me getting yelled at, then being sent to my room for a few hours; a technique my mother referred to as "tormenting." The only thing my brother hated more than me getting away with everything, was that term. His threats and the fear of getting in trouble with him was what intimidated me, and why I used to avoid coming into contact with him whenever possible.

With all of this in mind, the most sensible course of action was obviously to sneak into his room while he was at school and play his video games all day. I'm pretty sure he still doesn't know about that.

I was too paranoid of him showing up behind me while all my focus was in one of the games, that I rarely played for longer than 30 minutes. Still, it was the closest thing I've ever done to diving into a swimming pool of dynamite with a lit fuse strapped to my back.

To be fair though, without my older brother "tormenting" me through a couple years of my life, I'd probably still be getting away with stupid stuff and more than likely be a bit of a wimp. Also, I never would have had the opportunity to be chased through the house by a man in a bloody scream mask threatening to kill me if I didn't yell "I'm Bobo the Clown and I eat crickets!" into a tape recorder. So thanks for that, Sloshy. ;)