Meet Adam, my near-nonexistant brother. Knowing him, he’ll probably kill me for writing this. I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t read my blog and I rarely hear from him at all throughout the year, so I should be okay. (Me living like 8 hours from him and the family doesn’t help for “family-time” either.) Seriously though, in this day of technology and communication advances, you’d think that we would talk more. I rarely hear from him, he doesn’t call or email, he says he hates talking on the phone, but he will text, seldomly, but at least he texts. (I’m no better though, as I don’t call and rarely text him first… I should work on that)
We are both adopted, from entirely different families, three years apart. I came into the family at 7 weeks old in 1978. Adam, on the other hand, wasn’t as young as I was, he was 7 months when he became a De Geit in 1981. That may have played a part on the social development aspect. I went right to my adoptive parents, he went through a foster home or two before finding his way to us. I think he struggled more, his infant brain confused at the amount of big people around him, when there are usually only two. I was a happy child and overly-independant, he was the opposite of my outgoing self, he was quiet and kept to himself, but he was my little brother.
Growing up, I was the older/bigger one, I took care of him and protected him when I could. I also doled out the appropriate beatings when necessary, he was still my little brother. *(Somehow I ALWAYS got in trouble though, the minute I punched him, cause I was the “older and smarter” one… I should know better… WTF?) He was annoying at times, like all little brothers were, mostly when I started to “get into boys”. He was always around when I didn’t want him there…
I moved out young, like a week after my sixteenth birthday, that cut my family time a little short. Four years pass, I move to Ottawa. *(By then I was back in my parents good graces, at least I’d gotten my family back again.) The move however did put an eight hour stint between the family and myself though.
We kept in contact, as best as texts would. He was always my brother, I just knew that he would always be there, when I came home to visit. Adam was always there. *(He’s not the “little” brother anymore however, still shorter than me, he definitely filled out where he should have. He was now my protector and security. He grew into himself and I had grown into a mouth that frequently got me in trouble, that made us the perfect pair.) We would spend the week together, doing brother and sister things, hanging out or going for a drink. We wouldn’t really talk of anything in specific, sometimes we would just drive around wordlessly, killing hours on end or time, but never sharing a thought. That’s how it is with Adam and I, that’s what we do.
Now, being adopted from two different families, you’d think that we were total opposites. Aside from our hugely differing personalities, we are also were similar in certain ways; ways that I’m sure weren’t influenced by our adoptive parents. I’d think that he followed in my footsteps, being the older sister and all, not that these things are necessarily good things. *(My parents would totally blame me for this stuff, but I’ll take it.) I’ll start off with the tattoos, we both have them, we both have a lot of them, our parents don’t have any. They don’t understand why we have them and keep getting them, but we do. We both have issues with money, or I should say financial stability, whereas our parents are financial wizards. *(Well Mom is, Dad follows Mom’s suit for cash spending…) We’re both smokers and drinkers, our parents do neither. We are our parents children, yet we are so far from being them as well. That doesn’t make us any less De Geit’s, nor any less brother and sister. These little things, the things that we do have in common with each other are what keeps him and I close. For as close as 800 kms can be, I suppose…
I’m dwelling on Adam this morning, having received a random text from him yesterday, saying he’ll be in Ottawa this afternoon. He texted me to get in touch with my tattoo artist. I did that for him, but the piece he wanted was too expensive. He texted me back: “Maybe u and I can get a matching tat. Brother/sister thing.” I was honestly ashamed by my answer. I told him that there was nothing I wanted and I should save my money for my sleeve… I asked him what possible tattoo could him and I both agree on, as we were both so different. I was being selfish, I realize that now.
Here was my brother, of 31 years, telling me *(In his own non-verbal way) that he wanted something on him that would remind him daily of me, and I said, “No”. I was too caught up in myself and my own tattoo sleeve, to realize what he was telling me at the moment… He said “Ok fine”. I felt horrible, deep down inside, but didn’t know why until this morning.
Now I get it…
Adam’s in town this afternoon until tomorrow. I’m excited to see him and I WILL get a tattoo with him tomorrow. It doesn’t matter what it is, whatever he and I choose, whatever we end up agreeing on, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s my brother and he thinks of texting me, those three or four times a year… Maybe the tattoo will remind him about me and vice-versa, a little more than three or four times a year.😀