THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS THERE ARE MANY HOLES AND NOTES
[Maybe I should name my book Living with the Devil]
Fore-note: I feel very sorry for Barry. I pity him. There is nothing anyone can do for him....
And, most importantly, All Things are Never as They Appear when it comes to Barry.
Also, I didn't realize when I was growing up that the "Fun and Games injuries" were really Sick and Demented. If you ever see a child treating another that way, Please BEAT The Living HELL Out of Them! I Firmly feel that the only way to fight this kind of abuse is to use Brute Force! Dr. Spock is WRONG!
Well where do I start? I guess I'll start at Barry's Birth. I should note that everything I say here up until the time I am old enough to remember things is based upon and repeated from what my Mother has told me with minor bits from my Dad and other family members and family friends.
But first, because this a convoluted story there is an out of place thing you need to know before I start.
I was born with congenital Heart, Pulmonary, and Excretion defects which could not be repaired while I was a child because medical science was not advanced enough. In fact the Heart and Pulmonary defect repairs were an experiment, a best guess repair at the age of 23. I wasn't expected to live past 5 years old. Here I am 50+!
Barry's birth was rough and he was born at a time when they didn't do C-sections. My Mother say's the whole pregnancy was rough. He was coming breech and they had to turn him around inside her with metal instruments. My Mother say's Barry was ugly when he came out. His head was all bruised and swollen. So maybe he suffered some brain trauma when he was born. He does act like someone that had a head injury when they were young, and to this day, his head is a bit misshapen. But I can't forget about what I said in another post about it being genetic and my cousin's on my Mother's side of the family either.
My mother say's Barry was a daemon from the get go. His infancy was rough. Not sleeping through the night. [Different story from Mom. They forced Barry off the bottle too soon. So I don't know which story, Dad's or Mom's is true or maybe they both are in a sense.] He wouldn't give up the bottle till Dad took them to work and got rid of them. At 4 years old he was already an intelligent sneak. The first time Dad got rid of the bottles he did it while Barry was asleep and just threw them in the trash. Sometime in the middle of the night Barry got up, searched, and pulled the bottles out of the trash can at the curb. Remember, he was 4 years old. A couple days later Mom caught him with one. This time she didn't say a thing but got him to stay with a neighbor so she could search his room. She say's she finally had to search the entire house and it took over a week to find where all 7 bottles were hidden. Even at 4 Barry was exhibiting highly deviant intelligence. Mom say's most of the hiding places were where one would not expect a child to choose. One was hidden in the arm rest end of a bolster on the sofa in our game room and he even pulled out some of the foam so you couldn't tell it was there. That one was the last one found and she found it by accident when she took the cover off to wash it. What's worse, she can't figure out when he hid them. But Barry received no punishment or reprimand or education that what he had done was wrong. Instead, the bottles just disappeared when Dad took them to work and trashed them there. A week later he was caught with one he had stolen from the neighbor. He was punished for that. But as Dad said at one time when I was 40 something; the only thing Barry learned was that if he stole a baby bottle he would get punished. He didn't learn that stealing was bad.
So Barry replaced the bottle with Thumb Sucking, Chewing finger nails, and chewing on - this is gross - snot ridden handkerchiefs. He stopped the handkerchief chewing in his 40's, but he bites his nails so bad, there is no nail. (I just want to puke!)
Some of Barry's problems come from being spoiled, not from our parents, but from neighbors and Grand Parents. The Sociopathy was already showing itself. Mom says she couldn't leave him in the back yard and turn her back for a moment. He would be gone. To any one of the Neighbor's even when he was told not to do so. After a few panic stricken times, Mom realized he was going to neighbors. He would always say they called him over, but the neighbors denied it. Mom finally had the neighbors call her when he showed up, but they spoiled him and let him stay and they would bring him home. He never got punished for doing that.
Mom said she couldn't take her eyes off of him for an instant, or he would be doing something wrong. He was always getting into trouble and telling falsehoods. She knew it, but she didn't do anything about it. Well maybe she couldn't do anything about it. I remember her saying she talked to Dr.s but - at the time were Old School - told her he would grow out of it. But seeing how my Mom interacts with people, she keeps talking to different people till someone say's what she wants to hear; then it's fact. Even if 99 out of 100 Experts say the same thing, that 1 person that say's what she wants to hear is the right one.
Somewhere between Barry being 3 or 4 Mom had a miscarriage and was told, because of the damage to her uterus with Barry's birth, she wouldn't be able to carry another baby. She never say's anything about that and I can understand and respect her feelings about it. But Dad told me Barry was very concerned about Mommy when she was sick. However when Barry was told he couldn't have a Brother or Sister, Dad said he seemed almost elated, and he didn't seem to care about Mommy's health anymore.
At about 4 Mom and Dad started taking him to church. Big Mistake! Mom say's she should have started taking him when he was a baby. He was rambunctious, noisy, wouldn't settle down, etc. Mom and Dad tried 2 or 3 times more after having serious talks with him. Didn't work. [It took till he was 7 before he started to do the right things in church and that was only after Nun's and Priests Beat him with rulers and the old Knobs.]
Then I came along. I was an accident. 'Accident' isn't the right word, "Unexpected" is probably correct. I'm called the "Swine Flu Baby." My parents were in Miami in 57 for a conference with my Dad's company - I think or were they on vacation?. My Mom got real sick. Dad took her to the Hospital and no one knew she was pregnant. The Doctor's didn't even see it; almost 3 months. So they treated her for swine flu. When they got back home to PA and not feeling any better, Mom went to her Dr. He said, "I'm surprised you're not feeling any life in there. You're Pregnant." Mom of course was over joyed and flummoxed at the same time. She tells me the pregnancy went fairly smooth after that, but after I was born she couldn't have another baby...And my birth was nasty. Mom had to have 20 something internal stitches to put the baby oven back in place. At one point they wanted to send me home and keep Mom in the hospital while she healed. Mom tells the story funny with Dad saying something like "I don't know what to do with a Baby. I just make the things...! She wanted it! ;-)" Mind you, Dad had to work and look after Barry. He wouldn't have known what to do with me. Nor would he have wanted to burden friends or neighbors.
I was born 5 years 1& 1/3 months (we'll say 6 years) younger than Barry. Something to interject, I'll never be able to understand why my Parents supported and allowed his misdeeds to continue, or correct any of his falsehoods.
From the get go, Barry adversely affected my life. My name wasn't supposed to be what it is. I don't know what it was supposed to be because Mom won't tell me. Sometimes she tells me they hadn't chosen one yet; others just that it was not supposed to be what it is. Even at 6 years old Barry had a big mouth. Well before our parents had a chance to announce my birth, Barry stole the glory and told everyone and when asked what my name was, he lied, he made it up. Why my parents didn't correct the situation I don't know, what they did was to have the name on my Birth Certificate changed to what Barry told people it was (I deduce that my name had already been chosen from this). They themselves lied and supported his lie. I didn't find out about this till I was 40. I'm not angry, I like my name, but to have to rationalize why I have it; is lying to myself. It wasn't chosen because it's a Saint's name, or family member's name, or any of the myriad of other ways names are chosen, it wasn't even chosen by Barry; it was assigned to me by a lie. No matter how someone can rationalize that, one cannot say Barry chose my name because he was not offered a choice. He merely Made It Up!
Then, of course, Barry wasn't getting all the attention anymore. He ran around bragging about his baby brother, but he wasn't ready for the responsibility, nor the reduction in attention from Mommy. He started to loath me.
Mom has said I was a perfect infant. I'd be asleep by 7 and didn't wake up till 5. Hardly ever woke up for a feeding at 2. Barry on the other hand was up all night. That's still the case!
My parents found out about my Heart defect when I was 18 months old, when Dr.s still made house calls. I think it was Mom and Barry were down with the flu and the Dr. decided to check me. He heard the murmur and told them to get me in to see a cardiologist. Further research by the cardiologist reveled that there was a note on the birth record by the Dr. of a murmur, but my parents weren't advised. Apparently this was considered something common and it goes away normally. But they missed the fact that I didn't even have a valve there and the heart muscle had made a sphincter in place of the valve. This and the fact that Barry was now in first grade took much wanted "Mommy Attention" away from Barry. His hatred for me escalated.
I have have sorted glimpse type memories of the first home I can remember. Basement (Finished and unfinished area's), Mom's Beauty Shop area, Kitchen, Living room, my Bedroom, bathroom, the dog chasing balloons, the neighbors on the left, and the little Christmas Tree with tiny screw in bulbs and Santa in the window, etc. I also remember being tickled till I passed out and the demonic look on Barry's face while he was doing it. Twice. And my parents not believing me.
I never watched, because they hadn't been made yet or televised, the psycho-terror-horror movies, and when I saw my first one as a teenager I was bored stiff. I did watch the fantasy ones like Dracula, Frankenstein, Wolfman, The Blob, Swamp Thing, The Mummy, etc. They never really scared me, but I was interested in them. Probably because I read the books first; approaching them with a scientific mind.
So. I'm having trouble justifying or understanding a quirk I have and an associated set of images. I don't know if it's my mind putting things together weird or if something happened when I was an infant to when I can start to remember things, but it's always the same images and same feeling, triggered by the same thing. It gives me problems camping on cold nights, or making love to a partner, or just sleeping sometimes... I just can't put a blanket or pillow over my face. Even if it gently covers my nose and mouth I suddenly feel as if I am being suffocated and can't fight back. And it's just sheets, blankets, or pillows that do it to me. And only when I'm lying down or thereby close to it. And even if I'm asleep. My first real Lover and my last one both told me the same thing. If they pulled the blankets up over our heads, within seconds I'd wake up gasping for air with a "very frightened" look on my face. When I first wake up I feel as if I'm tangled in the sheets and can't move my legs and only flail my arms. I feel-sense I'm in a small padded box. Then suddenly the black swipes down my face to a grayish white in the distance with a small figure glaring at me and I'm terrified of it. I can't quite make out the face, but the features don't seem to change. Ok, so what of it? I worked for a Mortician and played the taking a nap in a casket game - with the Head Lid closed. No Problem. I played a Mummy in a play and was wrapped up except for eyes, nose and mouth and sealed in a sarcophagus for 20 minutes. No Problem. My Lover pulls the covers over my head and I Freak Out! I'm not saying My Brother did anything, but I'm not saying he didn't either.
Even camping in sub-zero temperatures. I have to put an elevated fabric tarp over my face, airline blinders, and something over my cheeks, I just can't sleep with the bag zipped up over my face.
And I remember the silly things I did like popping the little space man's head on my toy wallet and then stuffing the button that was his face up my nose and the Dr. pulling it out. Eating Play Dough and pooping techno-color freaking my Mother Out! ;-)) Being physically abused by a neighbor that was a principal at a school. I remember the coke dispensing machine my Dad got us that disappeared when we moved when I was 6 and showed up again when Barry was 55. How he kept it hidden, in the original box, for that long (43 years), I'll never know. I really don't want it. What's funny is that I know he has it in his possession...I have the small coke bottles that the machine takes...But he won't even take them for fear he has to admit he has the machine. He is going to risk me throwing out the now irreplaceable bottles just so he won't have to admit he has the machine. By the way, when he snagged the machine back in the 60's he overlooked the bottles, and I have had them ever since. All he has to do is say to me, in the presence of several select people, that he has the machine and that he would like the bottles, and I will gladly give them to him, No Love Lost. However, unlike the huge box of Lionel train track I discarded because he wouldn't admit to having the Lionel Train in his possession, I won't throw the bottles out, but he'll never get them because he can't admit he has the machine.
At some point in time and I don't remember it, nor how old I was, my Father had a massive Heart attack (I think he was 35, I 2 or 3). From what I understand, he wasn't expected to make it. So when I was growing up there were not a lot of things he could do with me. As a result I bonded to other Father Figures which only made Barry more and more jealous.
Time for school....Barry didn't start Kindergarten till he was 6 in the summer so that he would be 6 when he started First grade and 7 when going to Second. One of my Mother's customers was a Second Grade teacher and encouraged her to let me go to Kindergarten at 5 in the summer and start school at in the fall. My parents complied. I started First Grade in an experimental and accelerated class at 5.
I was in first grade (and 5 years old.) when President Kennedy was assassinated. The school was at the top of the hill. You could see it out of our kitchen window. Six months prior I cried as I watched the school burn to the ground. It was shorter to walk to the school than to ride the bus or drive there. They announced the assassination on the speakers and dismissed school. I ran all the way home crying. I have glimpse memories of the TV. Then Barry came home LAUGHING because he got out of school early. Do the math, he was in 5th Grade - he should have been in 6th. I was too little to understand exactly what was going on, but I knew he was our President and someone killed him and Barry should not have been happy he got out of school early for that reason.
I don't remember much of first or second grade except that we were learning French. In second grade French was all that was spoken in the classroom. I still dream in it and I can vaguely understand a French Canadian. And my Teachers' name's Mrs. L***** and Mrs. R*****. I can still see Mrs. L*****'s aged, kind, and learned face. But I do remember Barry showing up on the playground and causing trouble. I remember vividly him showing up at a little league game and heckling me. Even at 6 I knew he was my brother and he was supposed to support me.
Then we moved to a new neighborhood and school district. 6 homes, no kids 'cept us. Well there was N***** and J*****. N*** was a Girl my age and J**** was a boy 3 years older than me and they never did much outside the home. So I was stuck with what I already had identified as a loon. Those 4 & 1/2 years were terrible, although I really didn't notice. Well I think I've done some real good blotting out.
I don't want to remember the countless nights watching out the window, praying that every car that turned off the highway was my parents because I knew the torture would end when they finally got home, often between 02:00- and 04:00. They wouldn't listen to me about the sick stuff he did, but at least the torture would end when they got home.
Later in life I was in a minor motorcycle accident where I dislocated my right shoulder. The Dr. had both X-Rayed and came and asked me if I was a "Fighter" because of the damage to my shoulders. I told him how when I was growing up my brother used to slug me as hard as he could with his knuckles out whenever I passed by him. They did more research and found that the injuries were caused while I was young. I have Bursitis in both of my shoulders because of it. And my complaints and even my Parents witnessing the behavior, fell on deaf ears.
Then we moved to another house in the same neighborhood. I was 10, Barry 16. He had already gotten a car at the other house. And screwed it up. A Pontiac Impala convertible with a center mounted back seat speaker. It was a hot car for the time. And the torture continued....
Rewind a bit:
While our new house was being built several bad things happened. One of them I have been blamed for...I remember Barry taking me to the new house that was just plastered and telling me that if we turned the heat on it would dry faster and we could get in the new house sooner. I ran away because at 10 years old I knew something was amiss and I didn't want to get in trouble. The next day the workers came in and found the house hot as hell with all the heat turned up to high (some of the controls were out of my reach). But I have been blamed for that because a neighbor saw me coming out of the house. Well, in the end, it didn't hurt. No cracks.
Either way I still get blamed for it, but I didn't do it.
In the new house...We had some bad kids in the area. And yes they were bad, but they were not responsible for everything that happened in the neighborhood. Barry was responsible too. I know of two brush fires he started that he effectively blamed on others. But I also know he didn't mean to, he just didn't know what to do when what he was doing got out of control. He is a pussy. He had already learned from an early age it was better to run and hide and blame others because the punishment had a great chance of being avoided if even by an small amount. I had to fight all his battles in school. Everybody hated me because of my unique last name. They all knew who Barry was. The only C***** in the phone book.
It was weird, but growing up, my friends were almost always a year or two older than me; Barry's were almost always younger than him. He constantly caused problems with my Friends. He would try and be friends with mine that were 3 to 5 years younger than him. Many of my friends wouldn't come to my house, and I couldn't figure out why till about the eighth grade when some friends got together and told me that my brother was weird and they wouldn't come over if he was there. I remember telling my parents about it, and they supposedly talked to my Friends parents. In the end I was punished for lying. I asked my friends and they all denied ever saying anything to my parents. One of them actually told my Mother after she asked, in my presence, that the reason he would not come over was because Barry was weird. My Mother even had the gauche to reprimand me after my Friend left that I had set it up!
NOTES:
Barry stated at one time "From the day you were born you messed up my life"
...When Barry was 4 (four), our dear departed Uncle Pete bought him a Cowboy suit complete with chaps, rubber dart guns and a whip...I was 42 when I found out about that. I was just awarded my Doctorate in CIS and came to Mom's to go through some old trunks with memorabilia. Yearbooks, Caps & Gowns, Honors Cords, Pictures, etc. When I opened one of the trunks, on top was a Whip and Chaps my Mother had bought/made for me when I was 22 and working in a bank for a Halloween costume. Barry instantly seized on the whip and proclaimed it was the whip from the cowboy suit uncle Pete bought him when he was 4. Mom told him it wasn't and that she had bought it for me, and because of the size, a 4 year old would not even be able to handle it...We packed my Diploma's, year books, and Cap and Gown's in a box and Mom added the whip....A couple of years go by and I want to frame my Diplomas but the box is no where to be found. OK, big deal, we'll find them. A couple more years go by and Mom calls me for some help getting Barry's stuff into his storage bin and she can't find him anywhere. So I drive up and the owner of the storage company say's he has an inside bin and Barry has a lot of nice stuff. We can't find Barry anywhere so we decide to move his stuff inside....
...Before I go on with the above...we have this Lionel Train issue. When I was 2-3 some relative gave us (me and Barry) a Lionel train set. Barry made it his. Sometime around 8 for me Dad bought me a Lionel train (plastic crap). Barry pitched such a fit and bugged Dad for an HO train set. Dad bought it for him on the condition that Barry give up forever the Lionel train that was given to us. It took until I was 14 for me to get that train set - by the Force of Dad...
I got this funny tidbit when I was in my 40's. Being that Barry was older than me, I didn't know anything about Barry's early childhood, but he knew everything about me and exploited it. Because of the excretion defect I had to wear 'diapers' till I was nearly 14 when it was surgically corrected. As a result I would wet the bed. Barry would exploit this and call me "Pee Boy" and maliciously tell my friends and other people. He is mean and ruthless. Then one day in my 40's I asked Mom, because Barry was still doing it, tell me about Barry's early childhood, he has all the ammunition about me, but I don't know anything about him when he was young. She told me that he would routinely poop his pants. That she had to call him in on a schedule to go to the potty. Sometimes she would find him peering around a corner struggling to hold it in. I smiled. The next time he called me Pee Boy, I spun around and said "Mom told me all about you Shit Ass!" He hasn't called me Pee Boy since. But to this day, he routinely plugs up toilets or shits himself because he just can't stop hording crap!
I graduated high school 2 years early and my parents would not let me go to college till I was at least 18. So I stayed in school and took advanced classes. I packed the train in 1976 newspaper in a couple of boxes and went off to college. When I came home for Christmas my Mother suggested that I set up the Lionel train under the tree. I went for it and it was gone. Just one big box of track was left behind. We asked Barry and he said Aunt M**** must have taken it (after all she had been laying claim to it). My parents believed him. At my Dad's funeral he had a different story as to what happened to it...
...Back to moving Barry's stuff in storage...Mom and I are unloading the storage bin and what do we find - mind you he has been denying to Mom that he has the Lionel Train - The Lionel train still packed exactly the way I packed it 20 years prior. Later, on the bottom in the back, all water damaged do we find my box of memorabilia and diplomas all water damaged, torn open with the whip missing.
...Torturing Buttons with squire gun at Aunt B***'s when they lived in an upstairs apartment.
...By the way, Barry doesn't tell the whole truth. He 'Lettered' in Basket ball in High school, but what he doesn't tell you is that he never played, he never got above towel boy. He does the Least amount of work he can do to get the maximum benefit.
[Maybe I should name my book Living with the Devil]
Fore-note: I feel very sorry for Barry. I pity him. There is nothing anyone can do for him....
And, most importantly, All Things are Never as They Appear when it comes to Barry.
Also, I didn't realize when I was growing up that the "Fun and Games injuries" were really Sick and Demented. If you ever see a child treating another that way, Please BEAT The Living HELL Out of Them! I Firmly feel that the only way to fight this kind of abuse is to use Brute Force! Dr. Spock is WRONG!
Well where do I start? I guess I'll start at Barry's Birth. I should note that everything I say here up until the time I am old enough to remember things is based upon and repeated from what my Mother has told me with minor bits from my Dad and other family members and family friends.
But first, because this a convoluted story there is an out of place thing you need to know before I start.
I was born with congenital Heart, Pulmonary, and Excretion defects which could not be repaired while I was a child because medical science was not advanced enough. In fact the Heart and Pulmonary defect repairs were an experiment, a best guess repair at the age of 23. I wasn't expected to live past 5 years old. Here I am 50+!
Barry's birth was rough and he was born at a time when they didn't do C-sections. My Mother say's the whole pregnancy was rough. He was coming breech and they had to turn him around inside her with metal instruments. My Mother say's Barry was ugly when he came out. His head was all bruised and swollen. So maybe he suffered some brain trauma when he was born. He does act like someone that had a head injury when they were young, and to this day, his head is a bit misshapen. But I can't forget about what I said in another post about it being genetic and my cousin's on my Mother's side of the family either.
My mother say's Barry was a daemon from the get go. His infancy was rough. Not sleeping through the night. [Different story from Mom. They forced Barry off the bottle too soon. So I don't know which story, Dad's or Mom's is true or maybe they both are in a sense.] He wouldn't give up the bottle till Dad took them to work and got rid of them. At 4 years old he was already an intelligent sneak. The first time Dad got rid of the bottles he did it while Barry was asleep and just threw them in the trash. Sometime in the middle of the night Barry got up, searched, and pulled the bottles out of the trash can at the curb. Remember, he was 4 years old. A couple days later Mom caught him with one. This time she didn't say a thing but got him to stay with a neighbor so she could search his room. She say's she finally had to search the entire house and it took over a week to find where all 7 bottles were hidden. Even at 4 Barry was exhibiting highly deviant intelligence. Mom say's most of the hiding places were where one would not expect a child to choose. One was hidden in the arm rest end of a bolster on the sofa in our game room and he even pulled out some of the foam so you couldn't tell it was there. That one was the last one found and she found it by accident when she took the cover off to wash it. What's worse, she can't figure out when he hid them. But Barry received no punishment or reprimand or education that what he had done was wrong. Instead, the bottles just disappeared when Dad took them to work and trashed them there. A week later he was caught with one he had stolen from the neighbor. He was punished for that. But as Dad said at one time when I was 40 something; the only thing Barry learned was that if he stole a baby bottle he would get punished. He didn't learn that stealing was bad.
So Barry replaced the bottle with Thumb Sucking, Chewing finger nails, and chewing on - this is gross - snot ridden handkerchiefs. He stopped the handkerchief chewing in his 40's, but he bites his nails so bad, there is no nail. (I just want to puke!)
Some of Barry's problems come from being spoiled, not from our parents, but from neighbors and Grand Parents. The Sociopathy was already showing itself. Mom says she couldn't leave him in the back yard and turn her back for a moment. He would be gone. To any one of the Neighbor's even when he was told not to do so. After a few panic stricken times, Mom realized he was going to neighbors. He would always say they called him over, but the neighbors denied it. Mom finally had the neighbors call her when he showed up, but they spoiled him and let him stay and they would bring him home. He never got punished for doing that.
Mom said she couldn't take her eyes off of him for an instant, or he would be doing something wrong. He was always getting into trouble and telling falsehoods. She knew it, but she didn't do anything about it. Well maybe she couldn't do anything about it. I remember her saying she talked to Dr.s but - at the time were Old School - told her he would grow out of it. But seeing how my Mom interacts with people, she keeps talking to different people till someone say's what she wants to hear; then it's fact. Even if 99 out of 100 Experts say the same thing, that 1 person that say's what she wants to hear is the right one.
Somewhere between Barry being 3 or 4 Mom had a miscarriage and was told, because of the damage to her uterus with Barry's birth, she wouldn't be able to carry another baby. She never say's anything about that and I can understand and respect her feelings about it. But Dad told me Barry was very concerned about Mommy when she was sick. However when Barry was told he couldn't have a Brother or Sister, Dad said he seemed almost elated, and he didn't seem to care about Mommy's health anymore.
At about 4 Mom and Dad started taking him to church. Big Mistake! Mom say's she should have started taking him when he was a baby. He was rambunctious, noisy, wouldn't settle down, etc. Mom and Dad tried 2 or 3 times more after having serious talks with him. Didn't work. [It took till he was 7 before he started to do the right things in church and that was only after Nun's and Priests Beat him with rulers and the old Knobs.]
Then I came along. I was an accident. 'Accident' isn't the right word, "Unexpected" is probably correct. I'm called the "Swine Flu Baby." My parents were in Miami in 57 for a conference with my Dad's company - I think or were they on vacation?. My Mom got real sick. Dad took her to the Hospital and no one knew she was pregnant. The Doctor's didn't even see it; almost 3 months. So they treated her for swine flu. When they got back home to PA and not feeling any better, Mom went to her Dr. He said, "I'm surprised you're not feeling any life in there. You're Pregnant." Mom of course was over joyed and flummoxed at the same time. She tells me the pregnancy went fairly smooth after that, but after I was born she couldn't have another baby...And my birth was nasty. Mom had to have 20 something internal stitches to put the baby oven back in place. At one point they wanted to send me home and keep Mom in the hospital while she healed. Mom tells the story funny with Dad saying something like "I don't know what to do with a Baby. I just make the things...! She wanted it! ;-)" Mind you, Dad had to work and look after Barry. He wouldn't have known what to do with me. Nor would he have wanted to burden friends or neighbors.
I was born 5 years 1& 1/3 months (we'll say 6 years) younger than Barry. Something to interject, I'll never be able to understand why my Parents supported and allowed his misdeeds to continue, or correct any of his falsehoods.
From the get go, Barry adversely affected my life. My name wasn't supposed to be what it is. I don't know what it was supposed to be because Mom won't tell me. Sometimes she tells me they hadn't chosen one yet; others just that it was not supposed to be what it is. Even at 6 years old Barry had a big mouth. Well before our parents had a chance to announce my birth, Barry stole the glory and told everyone and when asked what my name was, he lied, he made it up. Why my parents didn't correct the situation I don't know, what they did was to have the name on my Birth Certificate changed to what Barry told people it was (I deduce that my name had already been chosen from this). They themselves lied and supported his lie. I didn't find out about this till I was 40. I'm not angry, I like my name, but to have to rationalize why I have it; is lying to myself. It wasn't chosen because it's a Saint's name, or family member's name, or any of the myriad of other ways names are chosen, it wasn't even chosen by Barry; it was assigned to me by a lie. No matter how someone can rationalize that, one cannot say Barry chose my name because he was not offered a choice. He merely Made It Up!
Then, of course, Barry wasn't getting all the attention anymore. He ran around bragging about his baby brother, but he wasn't ready for the responsibility, nor the reduction in attention from Mommy. He started to loath me.
Mom has said I was a perfect infant. I'd be asleep by 7 and didn't wake up till 5. Hardly ever woke up for a feeding at 2. Barry on the other hand was up all night. That's still the case!
My parents found out about my Heart defect when I was 18 months old, when Dr.s still made house calls. I think it was Mom and Barry were down with the flu and the Dr. decided to check me. He heard the murmur and told them to get me in to see a cardiologist. Further research by the cardiologist reveled that there was a note on the birth record by the Dr. of a murmur, but my parents weren't advised. Apparently this was considered something common and it goes away normally. But they missed the fact that I didn't even have a valve there and the heart muscle had made a sphincter in place of the valve. This and the fact that Barry was now in first grade took much wanted "Mommy Attention" away from Barry. His hatred for me escalated.
I have have sorted glimpse type memories of the first home I can remember. Basement (Finished and unfinished area's), Mom's Beauty Shop area, Kitchen, Living room, my Bedroom, bathroom, the dog chasing balloons, the neighbors on the left, and the little Christmas Tree with tiny screw in bulbs and Santa in the window, etc. I also remember being tickled till I passed out and the demonic look on Barry's face while he was doing it. Twice. And my parents not believing me.
I never watched, because they hadn't been made yet or televised, the psycho-terror-horror movies, and when I saw my first one as a teenager I was bored stiff. I did watch the fantasy ones like Dracula, Frankenstein, Wolfman, The Blob, Swamp Thing, The Mummy, etc. They never really scared me, but I was interested in them. Probably because I read the books first; approaching them with a scientific mind.
So. I'm having trouble justifying or understanding a quirk I have and an associated set of images. I don't know if it's my mind putting things together weird or if something happened when I was an infant to when I can start to remember things, but it's always the same images and same feeling, triggered by the same thing. It gives me problems camping on cold nights, or making love to a partner, or just sleeping sometimes... I just can't put a blanket or pillow over my face. Even if it gently covers my nose and mouth I suddenly feel as if I am being suffocated and can't fight back. And it's just sheets, blankets, or pillows that do it to me. And only when I'm lying down or thereby close to it. And even if I'm asleep. My first real Lover and my last one both told me the same thing. If they pulled the blankets up over our heads, within seconds I'd wake up gasping for air with a "very frightened" look on my face. When I first wake up I feel as if I'm tangled in the sheets and can't move my legs and only flail my arms. I feel-sense I'm in a small padded box. Then suddenly the black swipes down my face to a grayish white in the distance with a small figure glaring at me and I'm terrified of it. I can't quite make out the face, but the features don't seem to change. Ok, so what of it? I worked for a Mortician and played the taking a nap in a casket game - with the Head Lid closed. No Problem. I played a Mummy in a play and was wrapped up except for eyes, nose and mouth and sealed in a sarcophagus for 20 minutes. No Problem. My Lover pulls the covers over my head and I Freak Out! I'm not saying My Brother did anything, but I'm not saying he didn't either.
Even camping in sub-zero temperatures. I have to put an elevated fabric tarp over my face, airline blinders, and something over my cheeks, I just can't sleep with the bag zipped up over my face.
And I remember the silly things I did like popping the little space man's head on my toy wallet and then stuffing the button that was his face up my nose and the Dr. pulling it out. Eating Play Dough and pooping techno-color freaking my Mother Out! ;-)) Being physically abused by a neighbor that was a principal at a school. I remember the coke dispensing machine my Dad got us that disappeared when we moved when I was 6 and showed up again when Barry was 55. How he kept it hidden, in the original box, for that long (43 years), I'll never know. I really don't want it. What's funny is that I know he has it in his possession...I have the small coke bottles that the machine takes...But he won't even take them for fear he has to admit he has the machine. He is going to risk me throwing out the now irreplaceable bottles just so he won't have to admit he has the machine. By the way, when he snagged the machine back in the 60's he overlooked the bottles, and I have had them ever since. All he has to do is say to me, in the presence of several select people, that he has the machine and that he would like the bottles, and I will gladly give them to him, No Love Lost. However, unlike the huge box of Lionel train track I discarded because he wouldn't admit to having the Lionel Train in his possession, I won't throw the bottles out, but he'll never get them because he can't admit he has the machine.
At some point in time and I don't remember it, nor how old I was, my Father had a massive Heart attack (I think he was 35, I 2 or 3). From what I understand, he wasn't expected to make it. So when I was growing up there were not a lot of things he could do with me. As a result I bonded to other Father Figures which only made Barry more and more jealous.
Time for school....Barry didn't start Kindergarten till he was 6 in the summer so that he would be 6 when he started First grade and 7 when going to Second. One of my Mother's customers was a Second Grade teacher and encouraged her to let me go to Kindergarten at 5 in the summer and start school at in the fall. My parents complied. I started First Grade in an experimental and accelerated class at 5.
I was in first grade (and 5 years old.) when President Kennedy was assassinated. The school was at the top of the hill. You could see it out of our kitchen window. Six months prior I cried as I watched the school burn to the ground. It was shorter to walk to the school than to ride the bus or drive there. They announced the assassination on the speakers and dismissed school. I ran all the way home crying. I have glimpse memories of the TV. Then Barry came home LAUGHING because he got out of school early. Do the math, he was in 5th Grade - he should have been in 6th. I was too little to understand exactly what was going on, but I knew he was our President and someone killed him and Barry should not have been happy he got out of school early for that reason.
I don't remember much of first or second grade except that we were learning French. In second grade French was all that was spoken in the classroom. I still dream in it and I can vaguely understand a French Canadian. And my Teachers' name's Mrs. L***** and Mrs. R*****. I can still see Mrs. L*****'s aged, kind, and learned face. But I do remember Barry showing up on the playground and causing trouble. I remember vividly him showing up at a little league game and heckling me. Even at 6 I knew he was my brother and he was supposed to support me.
Then we moved to a new neighborhood and school district. 6 homes, no kids 'cept us. Well there was N***** and J*****. N*** was a Girl my age and J**** was a boy 3 years older than me and they never did much outside the home. So I was stuck with what I already had identified as a loon. Those 4 & 1/2 years were terrible, although I really didn't notice. Well I think I've done some real good blotting out.
I don't want to remember the countless nights watching out the window, praying that every car that turned off the highway was my parents because I knew the torture would end when they finally got home, often between 02:00- and 04:00. They wouldn't listen to me about the sick stuff he did, but at least the torture would end when they got home.
Later in life I was in a minor motorcycle accident where I dislocated my right shoulder. The Dr. had both X-Rayed and came and asked me if I was a "Fighter" because of the damage to my shoulders. I told him how when I was growing up my brother used to slug me as hard as he could with his knuckles out whenever I passed by him. They did more research and found that the injuries were caused while I was young. I have Bursitis in both of my shoulders because of it. And my complaints and even my Parents witnessing the behavior, fell on deaf ears.
Then we moved to another house in the same neighborhood. I was 10, Barry 16. He had already gotten a car at the other house. And screwed it up. A Pontiac Impala convertible with a center mounted back seat speaker. It was a hot car for the time. And the torture continued....
Rewind a bit:
While our new house was being built several bad things happened. One of them I have been blamed for...I remember Barry taking me to the new house that was just plastered and telling me that if we turned the heat on it would dry faster and we could get in the new house sooner. I ran away because at 10 years old I knew something was amiss and I didn't want to get in trouble. The next day the workers came in and found the house hot as hell with all the heat turned up to high (some of the controls were out of my reach). But I have been blamed for that because a neighbor saw me coming out of the house. Well, in the end, it didn't hurt. No cracks.
Either way I still get blamed for it, but I didn't do it.
In the new house...We had some bad kids in the area. And yes they were bad, but they were not responsible for everything that happened in the neighborhood. Barry was responsible too. I know of two brush fires he started that he effectively blamed on others. But I also know he didn't mean to, he just didn't know what to do when what he was doing got out of control. He is a pussy. He had already learned from an early age it was better to run and hide and blame others because the punishment had a great chance of being avoided if even by an small amount. I had to fight all his battles in school. Everybody hated me because of my unique last name. They all knew who Barry was. The only C***** in the phone book.
It was weird, but growing up, my friends were almost always a year or two older than me; Barry's were almost always younger than him. He constantly caused problems with my Friends. He would try and be friends with mine that were 3 to 5 years younger than him. Many of my friends wouldn't come to my house, and I couldn't figure out why till about the eighth grade when some friends got together and told me that my brother was weird and they wouldn't come over if he was there. I remember telling my parents about it, and they supposedly talked to my Friends parents. In the end I was punished for lying. I asked my friends and they all denied ever saying anything to my parents. One of them actually told my Mother after she asked, in my presence, that the reason he would not come over was because Barry was weird. My Mother even had the gauche to reprimand me after my Friend left that I had set it up!
NOTES:
Barry stated at one time "From the day you were born you messed up my life"
...When Barry was 4 (four), our dear departed Uncle Pete bought him a Cowboy suit complete with chaps, rubber dart guns and a whip...I was 42 when I found out about that. I was just awarded my Doctorate in CIS and came to Mom's to go through some old trunks with memorabilia. Yearbooks, Caps & Gowns, Honors Cords, Pictures, etc. When I opened one of the trunks, on top was a Whip and Chaps my Mother had bought/made for me when I was 22 and working in a bank for a Halloween costume. Barry instantly seized on the whip and proclaimed it was the whip from the cowboy suit uncle Pete bought him when he was 4. Mom told him it wasn't and that she had bought it for me, and because of the size, a 4 year old would not even be able to handle it...We packed my Diploma's, year books, and Cap and Gown's in a box and Mom added the whip....A couple of years go by and I want to frame my Diplomas but the box is no where to be found. OK, big deal, we'll find them. A couple more years go by and Mom calls me for some help getting Barry's stuff into his storage bin and she can't find him anywhere. So I drive up and the owner of the storage company say's he has an inside bin and Barry has a lot of nice stuff. We can't find Barry anywhere so we decide to move his stuff inside....
...Before I go on with the above...we have this Lionel Train issue. When I was 2-3 some relative gave us (me and Barry) a Lionel train set. Barry made it his. Sometime around 8 for me Dad bought me a Lionel train (plastic crap). Barry pitched such a fit and bugged Dad for an HO train set. Dad bought it for him on the condition that Barry give up forever the Lionel train that was given to us. It took until I was 14 for me to get that train set - by the Force of Dad...
I got this funny tidbit when I was in my 40's. Being that Barry was older than me, I didn't know anything about Barry's early childhood, but he knew everything about me and exploited it. Because of the excretion defect I had to wear 'diapers' till I was nearly 14 when it was surgically corrected. As a result I would wet the bed. Barry would exploit this and call me "Pee Boy" and maliciously tell my friends and other people. He is mean and ruthless. Then one day in my 40's I asked Mom, because Barry was still doing it, tell me about Barry's early childhood, he has all the ammunition about me, but I don't know anything about him when he was young. She told me that he would routinely poop his pants. That she had to call him in on a schedule to go to the potty. Sometimes she would find him peering around a corner struggling to hold it in. I smiled. The next time he called me Pee Boy, I spun around and said "Mom told me all about you Shit Ass!" He hasn't called me Pee Boy since. But to this day, he routinely plugs up toilets or shits himself because he just can't stop hording crap!
I graduated high school 2 years early and my parents would not let me go to college till I was at least 18. So I stayed in school and took advanced classes. I packed the train in 1976 newspaper in a couple of boxes and went off to college. When I came home for Christmas my Mother suggested that I set up the Lionel train under the tree. I went for it and it was gone. Just one big box of track was left behind. We asked Barry and he said Aunt M**** must have taken it (after all she had been laying claim to it). My parents believed him. At my Dad's funeral he had a different story as to what happened to it...
...Back to moving Barry's stuff in storage...Mom and I are unloading the storage bin and what do we find - mind you he has been denying to Mom that he has the Lionel Train - The Lionel train still packed exactly the way I packed it 20 years prior. Later, on the bottom in the back, all water damaged do we find my box of memorabilia and diplomas all water damaged, torn open with the whip missing.
...Torturing Buttons with squire gun at Aunt B***'s when they lived in an upstairs apartment.
...By the way, Barry doesn't tell the whole truth. He 'Lettered' in Basket ball in High school, but what he doesn't tell you is that he never played, he never got above towel boy. He does the Least amount of work he can do to get the maximum benefit.
