Sibling Support
I just recieved a long email from my little bother, who I haven't talked to too much since before he moved up to and then left Pittsburgh, talking about how he is really triyng to face up to and figure out a lot of the issues in his life about who he is and what he is doing. I guess being a young punk just really wasn't working out for him, and now that he's back in school and triyng to get serious about life this is the time to figure this stuff out. He said he now recognizes that Pittsburgh is really an incredible place but he wasn't in a spot to enjoy it in himself, and that he is a little envious that I've managed to find a group of caring and supportive friends here who aren't just concerend with how drunk they got the night before or what bands they saw last weekend. The last line of the letter read: "I don't think I ever thought this before, but growing up is a damn hard thing to do." And when I read that I cried. It's true, and now that he sees that he can actually throw himself into that challenging task of growing up into the intricate and beautiful person I know he is.
When we were younger Devon really looked up to me. Or more like he idolized the image of contemptuos rebellion that I was wearing at that time of trying to figure my own self out. When he moved up here, in his black studded jacket that outpunked anything I had once worn, he took one look at me and said, "Tait, you're a hippy now," and then went down to the local punk show space to get drunk with the kids. I guess it was hard for him to see that rebellion isn't always worn in patches on your sleeves, or in fitting in with people who you have just enough similair interests to go to shows with but nothing else. And now he's going to art school and getting his shit together, even he still doesn't have many friends to relate to on that. I'm immensely proud of him for getting this far. Last time I was down there he showed me that photographs he's been working on to create a new film processing technique that makes them look like impressionist paintings my jaw dropped and I couldn't stop telling people about it for weeks.
It's kind of flattering that he still looks up to me now, and can write me a letter saying what he's going through and ask for support in that. I can give it to him. It's nice being able to be the stable older brother I never was when we were growing up.
Maybe my family can work through its dysfunctions after all.
When we were younger Devon really looked up to me. Or more like he idolized the image of contemptuos rebellion that I was wearing at that time of trying to figure my own self out. When he moved up here, in his black studded jacket that outpunked anything I had once worn, he took one look at me and said, "Tait, you're a hippy now," and then went down to the local punk show space to get drunk with the kids. I guess it was hard for him to see that rebellion isn't always worn in patches on your sleeves, or in fitting in with people who you have just enough similair interests to go to shows with but nothing else. And now he's going to art school and getting his shit together, even he still doesn't have many friends to relate to on that. I'm immensely proud of him for getting this far. Last time I was down there he showed me that photographs he's been working on to create a new film processing technique that makes them look like impressionist paintings my jaw dropped and I couldn't stop telling people about it for weeks.
It's kind of flattering that he still looks up to me now, and can write me a letter saying what he's going through and ask for support in that. I can give it to him. It's nice being able to be the stable older brother I never was when we were growing up.
Maybe my family can work through its dysfunctions after all.
<< Home