Filed under: Uncategorized
While Edward was growing up, he was enthralled by science and mathematics. Off the bat, it proved to my parents that he was a boy genius, or so it sound like it. Since entering grade school, my parents and his teachers praised him for his scholarly, witty mind. He studied addition, subtraction, multiplication, division at the tender age of seven, including literature and grammar. The more Edward focused on academics, the expectancy for him to succeed grew. If his grades did not meet the standards of my parents, consequences would be arranged.
My dad would reach for the nearest object that was capable of harming Edward, corner the young boy and attacked him until Edward realized what he had done wrong. I overlooked everything– the anguish, torment, and tears running down my brother’s cheeks. I held my teddy bear and hid behind my mom. I was young, powerless, and certainly did not understand the position my brother had experienced. I lacked awareness of what Edward had to live by. Grades, school, and parental approval. But somehow, felt the same pain.
I knew Edward was a smart boy and noticed my parents’ constant attention for him. Growing up, I saw patterns from relatives and my teachers. Both showed demeaning attitudes towards me and always put the spotlight on Edward whenever his name was mentioned. Everyone was enthralled of the existence of my brother that I became invisible to the naked eye. Discussions about Edward’s academic achievements were inevitable and as people continued to praise him, my presence slowly drifted.
I lived behind the shadows of Edward and felt my self worth was solely based on his existence. I was referred as “Edward’s sister,” or “the not-so-smart child.” Whoever I met, Edward’s name was always mentioned. His name became a household standard, but to me, it was profanity. LIving under the roof with him, I never asked him to deprive my life from my parents’ nurture and attention from me. I was a mistake; I am not the sister that family, educators, and peers imagined. I was not a replica of Edward; I did not have outstanding grades, luscious hair, or witty.
After seeing Edward crying in shame, it made me realized Edward was not this perfect boy that everyone had imagined. My brother shared the same torment and insecurities as me. He did not feel he belonged in this world. His tears gave me the intuition to help him as his sister. I did not want Edward to feel worthless like I was because he deserved the best.
Leave a Comment so far
Leave a comment