An Open Letter to My Brother
filed on Wednesday, May 16, 2007 at 1:22:02 AM CST

When you came to me I didn't lecture you on your past mistakes.  I didn't try to tell you how to live your life.  I sat down with you so we could build a realistic picture of your life.  I told you I'd help you as long as you were making an effort to put your life in order.  I asked nothing of you but to spend time with you, to spend time with my brother, the brother who came running to me for help in a time of need.  You told me you were sorry about putting it all on me, and I told you that you should always feel you could come to me.

But I told you that if you were just going to run away if things got rough that you should just go ahead and run right then, because if you ran, there was no turning back.

There is no turning back, Len.  None.

What's ironic is that all you had to do is talk to me.  You went to Drew's house that Thursday night... and that was in St. Charles... or was it Springfield?  Or Beardstown?  Instead of clicking me to voicemail, if you'd just answered your phone and said, "Hey, I got bored, I went to Springfield," things would have been fine.  If the following week when you went on your "date" (funny how you never mentioned how your date went, or who your new girlfriend was, or where you'd met her or anything) you'd have called me instead of sending me a text message, I'd have respected you.  You didn't... but I never said a word to you about it.  Not a single word.  I mention it only now to let you know that yeah, it was in the back of my mind... probably a small victory for you that will bring a smile to your perverse little face.

But see, Len, all it would have taken was a little bit of honesty.  I'm not an asshole.  Yeah, I'd have asked you what your intentions about everything were.  I'd have told you that you needed to get back on the path of getting your life in order.  I'd have been upset you were moving back down south, but not because you were moving, because you're throwing away all the opportunities you had up here to make a life for yourself.

But then, who cares.  You don't.  You're nothing but a manipulative little liar.

When we had our little arguement, when I was upset you'd ignored me for a couple of days, you told me your life didn't revolve around me.  Great, no problem.  Of course, what you didn't realize is that I took a great many pains, and the burden of your car and your bills upon myself to prevent Sherry and Brian from being screwed over by your lousy decisions.  So yeah, my life, whether I liked it or not, was invariably altered by you.  Silly me, I expected some common courtesy and respect.  I guess that was too much to ask for.

But you looked me right in the eyes, and you said to me, "My job comes first."

Funny, because I see a completely different list.

Drugs.  Friends who can get you drugs.  Driving around.  Drinking.  Your job.  Your friends who can't get you drugs.  Your family.  I'm not sure where you rate in that list... if you rate at all.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised though... you shit on everyone who ever tries to help you.  You'll narrow this down to something stupid like "Well, you were trying to enforce your life on me," or "You're just mad because I have different morals than you," or "I had to do this for me."

None of it will explain why you don't have the testicular fortitude to treat me like a human being, why you can't talk to me man to man, and why you just run from everything.  Why'm I putting this on your mySpace page and my website?  Because I have no other way of getting ahold of you.  Drugs and partying in a hotel room were more important than obligations, and hanging out with your friends down south is far more important than making a life for yourself.  Well, you've made your bed, you can sleep in it, if you'll pardon the proverbial cliche.

You know, it's funny, really.  You've told me several times in the past that it seems like the moment things start going good for you in life, something happens, and it all goes to shit.  It's about time for you to realize that the "something" that happens is YOU.  YOU are what causes your life to go to shit.  The moment you have an iota of responsibility placed on you, you make the poorest decisions you can, and then sit and mope about how much life sucks.  Then people come, help you out, you treat them well, you thank them, you're thankful... and the moment your life starts straightening out again, you start losing sight of the goal, you start making stupid decisions again, rinse, wash, repeat.  It's you, Len.  Not some strange aspect of life you don't understand.  It's not DCFS's fault for not preparing you.  It can't be blamed on foster parents or your upbringing.  All of that only goes so far.  At some point in your life, YOU have to take responsibility.  When you got up here, and we started talking, and you quit smoking, and you got a job, and I heard happiness in your voice about the praises they were lauding you with, and your first real chance at advancement, and all of that, I thought to myself, "You know, he's had a few hiccups, but he's going to make something of himself."  Yeah.  I guess I make stupid decisions too.

As I've told several people tonight, I've thusfar lived my life without regret.  My mistakes, the things that have happened to me, the paths I've taken have all led me to where I am today, and I like myself.  I'm in a good place, I'm happy.  Remember these things when you try to lash out at me and call me hateful things like a faggot who still lives with his grandmother, and someone who hates his job, and who has no social life.  Understand that being gay doesn't bother me, and while my social life is limited by my choice to care for my grandmother, I do so out of my own choice, not out of obligation, and I do so because she and my grandfather were there for me in more times of need than I can count.  Understand I still have friends, still have a life, and that these choices I have made are to better myself.  You can use whatever defensive mechanism you care to, and say whatever the hell you want.  It's not going to bother me.

What does bother me?  I'll be honest with you... it bothers me that you called me when granddad died.  I wish you'd have just left me alone, and let me be.  I'd rather be sitting here today wondering where you were and what you were up to than to actually know.  I'd rather that I'd not gotten to know you, I'd rather that I'd never had you in my life again, I'd rather that I'd never opened my heart to you, I'd rather not have known you.  I won't look back on the good times you and I have had together with any measure of fondness, because in order to seal the gaping wound you've left in my soul, I'm going to put you away in a dark recess in my mind.  I'm saying my goodbyes to you now so that I won't have to do so later.  And I don't want to see you again.

I owe Jenni a huge apology.  Of the two of you, I should have been focussing on building a stronger relationship with her.  She's made a life for herself, and whatever obstacles she's had to overcome, she's a stronger person.  And I should have been there for her.  I chose poorly.  My limited time shouldn't have been spent on the selfish little brat whose only goal in life is to become a shining replica of his own father.  I should have been spending it with someone that actually has a heart.

Goodbye, Len.  Enjoy the PlayStation and the guitar, you thief.  They're the last things you'll ever get out of me.  And you might want to take the car back to Sherri now before it gets repossessed, because I'm not helping you out of that one.  Which is sad.  All you had to do was respect me and talk to me.  I wouldn't have been happy that you were going back down there, but we could have worked it out, and I'd already resolved myself to the fact that I'd only put one condition on helping you.

That condition was that you wouldn't run away.

You did.

Have a nice life, Len.  I'll always love you.  But I'm not going to be here for you to stab again.  My heart can only take so much.  I hope someday you grow up, and that the important things in life come for you.  I wish I could be a part of those things, but I can't.  Get off the drugs, find a job, make a life for yourself.  It's all I can ask.  But I won't be around to check in on ya, kid.  I can't, and I won't.

Goodbye.