I've been having a GREAT summer so far, working and just hanging out; but I REALLY MUST get some real sleep now. I'm ready to pass out all the time and it's really becoming noticable at work. I guess I've just been having too much fun, or I don't want to miss out on any of the action/partying with my friends, but this is getting ridiculous. It's been almost two weeks since I slept an entire night in my bed.
None of the kids at the house are working, you see. At least not steadily. They'll work here and there, usually under the table, at one-day or really short term projects, but usually not at all. I go to work every single day. It's rare that I have an entire day off. It's going to be hard enough to pay for school come September as it is so I basically HAVE to work as much as possible.
I tried not to be jealous when I left the house for my shift this afternoon; they were starting to gear up for an evening of partying and when I told them I wouldn't be back until tomorrow daytime nobody seemed to care. As my bicycle finds its way through False Creek almost of its own volition I ponder over the easy lives of the other kids compared to mine. They come from basic, average middle (or lower middle) class families while my parents are both professionals and earn a very decent living. Why am I always the one with no money, wearing used clothes, no car and having to pay for my own school?
Part of it is the real estate dealings my parents are permenantly involved in. Every time they sell a property it doesn't mean we now have money; they turn around and buy something MORE expensive right away. The plan is to eventually generate revenue, or to eventually be able to buy a property without a massive mortgage. But the way they explain it to me, they won't see any actual cash from what they're doing for many years. The other part of it, of course, is the HUGE expense of sending my brother to the most expensive boarding school in BC.
My brother. Have I talked about him yet? In current times I mean, not stories of our childhood. No? Probably that's because I do my best to forget he exists. That sounds harsh I know, but he has a history of being very not nice to me (read: bullying, domineering, selfish and downright mean). Even with my mum's ranting nonsensical husband, my life is so much better when my asshole brother is not around.
One time when we were really little, I was six I think so he would have been seven and a half, we went to a zoo. It might have been with school, I don't remember, but it was a petting zoo and we got to pet the goats. Later when we were home we were outside, alone of course as usual, and he was pretending to be a goat. He bent at the waist and kept butting me with his head "I'm a goat I'm butting you I'm butting you" in the stomach. He was doing it hard, pushing me backwards in the process. It kind of hurt but tickled too so I was laughing, holding him off with my arms. But off course he was stronger than me and kept getting around them and butting me in the torso. I was getting weaker and couldn't hold him off much longer so warned him several times, "I can't hold you, I'm going to let go! I'm going to let go." We were on the grass between the sidewalk and the road and he had managed to push me quite a ways down the block. It was actually weird to me, the single-mindedness with which he was butting me. I couldn't even tell if he actually HEARD me warning him, so I kept repeating it through my laughter. Finally, when I felt the strength going out of my arms and I knew that if he got me one more time in the body I would probably fall over . . . actually, that must have been what he was trying to do I just realized! wow, I can't believe I didn't think of that before . . . Anyways so I said one last time "I'm letting go now" and I swung my arms to one side while sidestepping my body to the other.
Well.
Wouldn't you know it but directly behind me at that very moment was a fire hydrant and *CRACK* my brother smacked into really hard with the top of his head. Ouch. When he finally picked himself up off the ground clutching his head I couldn't believe that be blamed me for 'pushing' him. I didn't PUSH him, I just got out of the way of him pushing into me! If he wasn't so hurt he would have punched me in the head a few times for that, that's for sure.
Even though it totally wasn't my fault I felt really REALLY bad and followed quite a distance from him on his way home trying to understand exactly how that could have happened. When I got back to the apartment he had generated huge amounts of sympathy from my mother and her boyfriend-of-the-moment. He was sitting up on the bathroom counter being cooed over by my mum in a way that made me instantly jealous; and her boyfriend approached me sternly calling me a "very bad girl". I came to realize that my brother was milking the whole thing for all it was worth by claiming that I pushed him, meanwhile being sure to keep himself out of blame's way entirely. Because it was all his own stupid fault. Quite ingenious actually.
My mother was barking at me harshly from the bathroom. I was speechless at first; SHE of all people should know that I couldn't have possibly pushed him. All of the injuries instilled in our family ran in one direction only: from him to me. Besides, I could never even hurt a fly! Her boyfriend came to me again reprimanding me and demanding to know how I could do such a thing.
Close to tears I finally managed to get my breath and said, "I didn't push him!"
This was received as a childish attempt to escape blame. Of course I must be lying!
"I didn't push him. He was pushing into me and I warned him that I couldn't hold him anymore but he kept doing it so I jumped out of the way neither of us knew there was a fire hydrant right there."
If I wasn't actually crying there were tears on my face for sure, I felt just terrible that my brother was hurt. Not because I was to blame, just that he was hurt.
My mum's boyfriend looked at me closely and could see I wasn't lying and went into the bathroom to reprimand my brother and explain to my mum what had really happened. I got in trouble with her anyways; she didn't care if it was really my brother's own fault, her precious son was hurt and that's all that mattered. The rest of the day he got pampered with cake and loving while I got to sit off a distance watching, resentment growing in me. Resentment that rather quickly replaced my concern. His head wasn't even bleeding after all! Although he did show me, and you could see a Y-shaped crack on the top of his skull.
Anyways that wasn't the point, I just wanted to explain a tiny bit of the family dynamic when we were still really young. The point was to explain how my parents used me as bait to get my brother accepted to a very exclusive private school.
Ever since I was very young I wanted to go away to boarding school. Not in the least because I wanted to escape my dysfunctional family, but a large part of it was also because I had read so many books about kids away at school and the hijinks they used to get up to. My aunt used to send them to me all the time you see, from Britian; and the stories seemed like summer camp except for year-round. Some of the antics the girls used to get up to!
Even before we moved to Vancouver my brother's acting-out (at home and at school. if it was just at home my mum would have used her famous tactic of 'ignore the problem and it will go away' but when it became noticed outside the family she felt prompted to do something about it) and violence was becoming a major family problem. Her new husband, a HUGE source of trouble and friction, could not just let it slide the way my mother had. The truth was that it was escalating, and was no longer being directed solely at me.
Now, don't get me wrong. It wasn't as if I was walking around black & blue all the time, cowering at the very sound of his footsteps or anything like that. My brother and I spent an awful lot of time together playing games and on some very involving projects (like building a 'fort' in the rafters above the cieling of his bedroom). We're talking about things that basically any brothers reasonably close in age would subject each other to. Punches in the arm, indian burns, "purple nurples" (oy), tackling me during the commercials and twisting my arm behind my back, . .. whatever. usual rough-housing. It's not like I actually got HURT or anything. I just didn't take well to it because I'm a girl, and because it was always one-sided. I mean if, in any of this "play" -during my struggles- if an arm or a leg snapped up and hit him he would instantly become angry and punch me hard. In the gut, or the head. Or he would just get angry about something regardless and punch me, completely out of the blue. We always had to play his games that he wanted to play, and if there was a game I was good at and would consistantly beat him at like Scrabble we wouldn't play it anymore. It was just an unpleasant power dynamic that did nothing to strengthen my already extremely fragile self-image.
Then we moved to Vancouver and my brother's behaviour got even worse. I was actually thankful because he had lost interest in spending time with me at all (I was too much of a loser), and the eruptions between him and my mum's husband were easier for me to ignore because we were in a bigger, more sound-resistant home. I was barely aware of this at the time, but my brother 'ran away' (he rode his bike out to Surrey then phoned my parents to come pick him up). Vladimir said "I don't want to go get him, leave him there if he wants to go." This is supposed to be my secondary care-giver.
Finally the decision was made to send my brother off to school. Vladimir, in typical, completely reactionary fashion, wanted to send him off to military school. But my mother couldn't bear the thought of her precious little boy actually having to WORK and SWEAT so wanted to send him somewhere fancy where he would be comfortable but not in the way and where he could make some good contacts for later in life.
The problem was (and you'd THINK it was money, but they somehow managed to miraculously find money for this huge expense but I had to pay for my lifeguard course myself) that my brother's grades were so terrible there was NO WAY he'd be accepted to any private school, let alone a boarding one.
What to do what to do.
Well, we do have this daughter here who is very presentable and well spoken, in fact shines when the moment is right, and has reasonably good grades and many extra-curricular activities to her credit.
So they told me that I, too, would go to this school. This particular school had initially been boys-only, so it accepted boys from grades 8-12 but girls from grade 10 only. They were aiming for my brother to start there that September, and me the following year. But we would both go and apply at the same time. They could barely keep my brother's dysfunctional behaviour from surfacing during the interview. The examinor quickly lost interest in even talking to my brother and focussed on me.
Boy was I motivated. I pulled out all the stops; charm, intelligence, wit, a little bit of spunk. I saw my opportunity to get away from my stupid family and I intended to maximize on it.
There was a test, an intelligence/aptitude test that -together with grades- was taken as a measurement of acceptability. By the time they put us into our separate individual rooms I was on fire. When time was up I emerged triumphant to the anxious reception of my parents. I didn't even need to hear the result, I felt so good about it. When the examinor returned from grading us I could tell by his wide-open eyes staring at me that I had done very, very well.
I was so elated I already began planning my new life free of the burdens of my family. Where I got to be myself, where people liked me for me without always prefacing it with some dastardly comment about my asshole brother. I would finally get to discover who I really WAS, without having to be on the defensive all the time, without having to deal with the fighting/arguing/yelling that always served to push me deep inside my little shell.
I was so engrossed in these wonderful thoughts that I was barely aware of what happened next. I have played it over and over in my mind since then and the underhandedness of it, the deliberate sneakiness of it pisses me off to this day.
The examinor instantly accepted me to his school, with open arms, in fact he regretted that they were going to have to wait a year. With a huge smile I looked over at my parents expecting some congratulations but received none.
"What about the boy?" was all they wanted to know.
My feelings were hurt at being so rebuffed, but no matter. In one short year I would only have to deal with these people on holidays.
With a heavy sigh the examinor explained that my brother's test scores were less than acceptable, and coupled with his very weak grades unfortunately rendered him below the standards for the school.
This was just getting better and better! Away from the parents AND the brother! I was in bliss.
But there was a problem. Unfortunately my parents would not be comfortable sending me away unless my brother was there too. What was this? They had never demonstrated such interest in my well being before!
I started paying attention.
The examinor apologized profusely and began explaining how the virtues of his school would help to maximize on my potential. Under their tutelage he was sure I would go very far indeed.
I wanted to hug this stranger. I imagined myself asking, "Will you be my daddy?" so unknown was it to me that someone would actually state out loud that I was indeed very intelligent.
My parents rebuffed his efforts to butter them up on my account, and kept returning to talk of my brother.
It was all becoming very tiresome to me and I was getting rather annoyed that they refused to acknowledge my abilities when being pointedly, and repeatedly, confronted with them by a trained professional. Then things became alarming.
When the examinor flatly denied my brother and would only speak of taking me, my parents actually stood up
"If you won't take the boy then you can't have the girl. Come on kids, let's go."
I couldn't believe it! I almost burst into tears right then and there. It was just like my family to absolutely destroy my only chance at something that would be really good for me and that I really, really wanted.
"Now now let's not be hasty. Please sit down."
The examinor was looking at me, I'm sure my distress was clearly visible.
So my parents worked out some kind of deal that the school would take my brother just so I could go there. He had to get his grades up and some involvement in extra-curricular activity wouldn't hurt. I barely paid attention to the negotiations; so stunned was I that my parents were so brutally willing to sacrifice me -my future, this fabulous opportunity for an education- just for my stupid brother who neither cared nor bothered to put any effort into school.
As we were leaving the examinor took special care to pat me on the shoulder and say he would be impatiently waiting for the day I would become a student. I was barely able to muster a gracious smile.
So my brother went off to that school that September. You'd think home life would be easier for me with his departure but it really wasn't. With my brother gone all of Vladimir's hostility and emotional abuse was heaped on me. My mother did nothing at all to prevent it, sometimes she would tell him to stop but mostly she would evacuate to another room while he berated me.
They made up some lame excuse the next year and refused to send me to that school. I argued about it relentlessly; quite uncharacteristic of me, usually my tactic was to just bear it in the hopes that they would eventually come to their sense. But this, this I could not let go of. It was SO injudicious, SO ragingly unfair. They told me they had money just for one kid to go, I replied that I was the one the school wanted. I told them I always knew they favoured my brother, they denied it. Vladimir tried to explain that my brother NEEDED the school, that he was unruly and undisciplined. I replied that I had EARNED it, that I worked hard and was a good kid.
Finally, in typical Vladimir fashion he beat me down by yelling at me. As the child it was not my place to question my parents, that their decisions were based on considerations beyond my understanding. That I should accept their methods of upbringing unquestionably.
I knew that he was full of shit because he was yelling, if he really meant what he said he would have spoken normally. But I couldn't keep arguing; I have to admit that despite my brave front I was intimidated by him. However I had to let them know that I knew they had jerked me around, and as I glared at my mother I could see her register that knowledge in me.
I have never forgiven them for that. And I never will. It was an entirely self-serving measure; they didn't give a shit about my brother's education, they just wanted him out of the house. They DIDN'T want me out of the house, just yet, because I was a good little maid and cleaned the kitchen every day and vacuumed their living room.
But the fact that they ruthlessly dangled me as bait, that they got my hopes up deliberately so that I would try my damndest to do well on the interview and test when ALL THE WHILE they knew they would never send me there . .. well, that is truly despicable.
It makes me mad all over again just thinking about it.
I think I'll raid their liquor cabinet when I get home. After I sleep tonight I won't need to go there for several days so they won't be able to give me shit.
