Growing Up Miles - Siblings, Part 2

Being the oldest child has its perks. It also has its responsibilities and... un-perks (anti-perks?), for lack of a better term. One of the more mixed blessings occurs when you are old enough to be Left In Charge. This is basically the same as child sitting, only with less respect from those being sat. Plus, you may not get paid for it. You may not always have an option whether you do it or not. I guess one could argue the case that it prepares you for real life...

I don't believe I was a tyrant. Feel free to ask my siblings for their perspectives, but I really did try to be fair. On the other hand, I've always had a pretty strong sense of right and wrong (which I admit, I have locked away in a box (my sense of right and wrong, not my siblings)) from time to time, and a strong sense of justice. It's entirely possible I was a little too zealous in enforcing the rules, and in demanding that they do things my way. Especially at 13 or 14, when it was fairly common to be asked to take care of my sibs when our parents went out.

We lived on the Hill in Augusta. Most of the homes were older, nice, two story houses on a half acre. Once The Place to live in Augusta, it was still pretty nice. We knew the neighbors and they knew us. It was a Respectable Neighborhood. Things simply don't happen in Respectable Neighborhoods.


It was a lovely, late spring night on the Hill. The weather was typical for Augusta-- pleasant, with azaleas, honeysuckle, roses and various wildflowers and grass scents everywhere. Most people kept their windows open nights like this. Why pay for A/C when it was free? While a little more humid, it smelled delicious.

My parents had gone somewhere, leaving me in charge.

I don't recall too many details of the evening, which means we probably ate, watched TV, maybe played a game or read, talked, bathed, and got ready for bed. Just a typical night or I'd recall more about it. Of course, being the oldest, I didn't have to get ready for bed, but the others did. And there began the trouble.

Nobody really wanted to go to bed. Frankly, I didn't blame them. It was a gorgeous night, a weekend night, a night made to stay up late. But Mom and Dad had given bedtimes, and that was The Law.

Bill argued. He railed. He joked. He ignored me. Eventually I ran out of my limited options and a switch flipped somewhere inside. I went into Tyrant Mode. Bill eventually got in bed. By now the girls were in bed as well. Maybe they were just more compliant. Maybe I scared them more. Not having shared a room with me and kept me awake night after night until Dr. Miles became Mr. Revenge, they weren't immune to my wrath.

Finally, the house was quiet. My duty to parents and siblings fulfilled, I settled down to watch TV and read. I heard footsteps. "What are you doing?" I roared. Bill ran back to his bed, laughing. After a couple more episodes, the footsteps didn't return. Ah, peace...

Not so much. I heard the girls laughing. I trod firmly up the stairs, only to find Bill running back to his room. I turned on the lights. I lectured as best I could from memory as my parents might have. I don't think anyone laughed, but I recall a couple of smirks and grins. Lights off. Down I went. Ah, peace...

Giggling again. I stomped upstairs. Bill ran to his room. Lights on. Lecture. Mild argument. Lights off. I barely stomped going back down the stairs. I held my breath.... Quiet... Quiet... Ah, peace.

Raucous laughter. Weary with the cares on my poor, teenage shoulders, I trudged upstairs. Running. A body hitting a bed. More laughter. Snorts of hysteria. Lights on. More laughter, apparently at my besieged and weary, once noble countenance. "Mom and Dad... How can you... Why... You'd better... Or else..." Up til now, it was as fine a speech as the perfect, teenage, surrogate parent might give. But that last phrase has to come from either a true parent or a dangerous sibling. I was neither. I was a geeky kid with horn rim glasses, the muscle development of roadkill, and the menacing demeanor of baked trout.

And Bill had learned the truth about Space Robot.

"Or else? Or else what?", demanded my brother between howls of laughter. He bounced on his bed. He pounded his pillow as he laughed. He jumped out of bed and danced. It was too much. Another switch flipped. I was no longer in Tyrant Mode. I was now in Sad Punisher Mode.

"You leave me no choice. Mom and Dad told me I could if I had to. I'm going outside to get..."

Bill stopped. Out of the corner of my eye, through the connecting door to their room, I sensed my sisters hold their breath.

"...a switch."

My sisters gasped.

Bell was in denial. "No you aren't! You can't do that! You wouldn't dare! You better not!"

"I have permission. They said to do it if I have to."

"No! You won't!"

I turned around. I walked out, leaving his light on. I turned the girls' light off. "Lie down and go to sleep. I don't think he'll bother you any more tonight."

"Miles, do you have to?" Bill sounded sorry.

"Yeah. I do." I was angry. I was sad. I was miserable. But Bill was going to join me there. I stalked downstairs. He called something after me. It made no difference. I ignored him. I was steeling myself. Part of me, Dr. Revenge, was ecstatic. But part of me was afraid. I'd never whipped anyone before. I hated the switch. Man, was this what my parents felt like? I was amazed when I found myself preparing to speak an age old truth to Bill. "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you." Knowing it was true, and that it couldn't possibly be true.

Out by the sidewalk, I chose and broke off a wisteria branch. As I began to strip the leaves, I heard my brother speaking loud enough for me to hear. "Miles, please! I'll stop. I'll be good. I swear!" I looked up and saw him in my sisters' room, standing at their open window. It was too late; I knew how this worked. Once punishment was promised, it must be imposed.

"I have no choice." I shook my head. "Get back to your room. I'll be there in a minute."

The beautiful silence resting upon the Hill was ripped to shreds by the tortured cry of a lost soul. "No, Miles! No! Please! Don't hit me, I'll be good, I promise! I swear! AHHHH! Ow! Stop! Please! Don't beat me any more, I'll be good! AHHHH! OW! OW!"

I stood frozen, mortified, the switch half stripped in my hand, as my brother-- an excellent actor by now-- went on and on and on. I saw lights come on in other houses. I heard a window slam between yells. As I looked helplessly around, a couple of neighbors stepped onto their porches to see what was going on.

You know in the old Frankenstein movies, the huge, double bladed knife switches? The ones they throw to let the lightning's current bring a monster to life? Well, Bill's theatrics threw several of those at once, and a monster roared to life inside me. I ripped the rest of the leaves off with a single stroke, not realizing til later I had cut my hand. I stormed the house, waving the switch like a sword over my head, a war cry on my lips. "Death! Death to the infidel!" Well, not quite, but something close to that.

Thankfully, Bill hadn't take the simple step of locking me out. I nearly ripped the screen door off its hinges, bounded up the stairs, grabbed Bill by an arm, drug him from our sisters' room, slipping and sliding across the polished wood floor (hoping he got lots of splinters), sat on his bed, threw him across my lap, pulled his pajama pants down, and started to beat the tar out of him.

The switch broke after a couple of licks. Shrieks turned to laughter. Bill escaped as I stared dumbly at what little wisteria remained in my hand. Bill locked himself in the closet or bathroom or somewhere similar, I turned the lights out, went downstairs, went outside, and talked to the night until my parents got home. God, the stars, the trees, the flowers, the darkness... none of them answered me that night. But I'd calmed down somewhat when Mom and Dad walked up from the car.

"What are you doing out here? Is everything OK? Did the others do all right?" As we walked inside, my story poured out, I was nearly crying with rage and embarrassment. The whole Respectable Neighborhood had heard! That little brat! It was a wonder the police weren't called! What would the neighbors think? How could he do this to me? I've never been so humiliated in my life! You left me in charge and...

My parents couldn't hold it back any longer. It wasn't incredulity at my brother's disobedience and disrespect that strained their faces. Grins tugged the corners of their mouths. They glanced at each other and burst out laughing. They laughed until they cried. Mom sat down, but Dad fell to the floor and rolled around.

I was wrong. I only thought I had never been so humiliated in my life. This was worse. Far worse. Betrayed by my own parents when I had kept their trust. I was unloved. Unwanted. Doomed. Alone in the world. I couldn't help it. At 14, I started to cry.

Seeing this, my parents mostly quit laughing. Mere giggles remained. Their faces softened. Dad spoke. "Son, I'm sorry."

Mom added, "So sorry. But now... at least you know..." (was she trying not to laugh again??? "...what it feels like..." Yes, she burst out laughing.

"...to be a parent!" So did Dad.

It was years before I forgave them.