Who Am I?

Who am I to think I can help people?

Found here

I have lived a fairly sheltered life safely swaddled in my privileged middle class bubble. What I know of this complex world is derived innocently from books, movies, and secondhand stories. I don’t have life experiences that allow me to speak to the very real and significant struggles that many, if not most, people go through. 

I have been widely loved and supported throughout my life. People have encouraged, valued, and believed in me. I have been consistently lifted up, respected, and handed opportunities. The only person to ever doubt my worth or skills has been me. I am the only one who has ever kept me from anything.

In my life, I have always been afforded the luxury of choice. I could go anywhere or do anything. I have been able to choose to stay back or move on. I could be or do anything I wanted. My only real difficulties emerged from this overwhelming sense of obligation to select my own path.

Without completely invalidating my own difficulties in this world, I think it’s fair to say that I’ve been incredibly lucky. No external source has ever pushed me down, blocked my path, or made me feel defeated. I have never had to overcome a source seemingly more powerful than myself. Thus far I have avoided trauma, loss, and oppression. I have not experienced the crippling effects of poverty, or the fear and isolation that results from a lack of trust in those around me.

What do I know about any of that? How does that knowledge enable me to improve a lifestyle I don’t understand? Who am I to think I can help these people?

Questions (Part 1)

***The following is an excerpt from Raina's Story **** 

So this is what dying feels like, Raina thought.  It’s kind of peaceful.

It had all happened so quickly.  Instead of crashing into it, her mind made believe that the tree trunk had somehow opened by an invisible garage door-like apparatus.  Then she simply lost consciousness.  Her body felt increasingly lighter as a warm corporal sensation lifted her up.  The familiarity of it was comforting, and somehow reminiscent of fading memories of her father. Through her eyelids, she absorbed the light shining down from the heavens.  She felt her body rising slowly between those paternal arms.  In no time at all, she was placed gently on a bed of clouds.  In the distance, she could hear birds chirping the most beautiful song.  The sun set in an instant and Raina drifted off once more.

In her slumber, Raina saw Tam, dressed as he was the day she left him.  He was in the school yard, swinging by himself.  With eyes closed and a serene expression, he pumped his legs back and forth.  His little body climbed higher into the air than seemed possible, and he appeared to relish in the feeling of the wind on his face.  As she watched, Raina heard the tones of their song. When the intro shifted to the lyrics, Tam opened his eyes.

Little one, arise

There you are Tam Tam. Raina’s face pulled into a smile.

The sun has come.

His swing fell backwards, and Tam’s lips drew up in a mischievous smirk.  Be careful!  Raina cautioned, but bunked in the clouds, her voice was not audible on earth.  His swing pushed forward.  He let go, and launched himself into the air.

We take to the skies

“TAM!” Raina bolted upright.  Disoriented, she looked around.  She hadn’t been adrift on a bed of clouds after all.  She had been laid to rest on a trundle filled with down pillows, and covered in a blanket of moss.  She appeared to be inside a room in a wooded cabin.  In her confusion, Raina struck a frozen posture as she surveyed her surroundings.  Once she had determined that she was alone, Raina slipped out from under her cover.  She lightly pressed her bare feet onto the wooded floor, and tip-toed to the adjacent window.

Her brow furrowed as she peered out the circular frame.  Raina was looking directly into a sylvan canopy.  Straight ahead was an abundance of green foliage.  Looking up, Raina could see patches of blue and sunlight peaking through intertwined branches.  Below, she saw an incredible height of grooved and knotted tree bark.  Raina was in a tree.

She turned her back on the forested scene, and slid down the wall.  She landed on the soft woody floor, and dipped her head into her hands. The harshness of her uncertainty told her that this couldn’t be the heaven she once thought it might be.  She felt her cold fingers wring through her auburn hair and knew she wasn’t dreaming.  The only logical explanation left was that Raina was losing her mind.

With this realization, Raina began to cry.  She pulled her knees to her chest, and rested her head on her arms as she whimpered helplessly.

Through her quiet sobs Raina heard a door open.  Heavy footsteps trotted into the room.

“Rise and shine Love,” came the male voice from before.

She looked up, and her eyes found the short and pudgy bald man who called himself Bartle.  He was holding a tray of food, and wore a dopey expression of excitement.  For a moment, he seemed surprised to see an empty bed.  Then he turned to see her small cradled form on the floor.

“Oh dear,” his eyes switched to concern as he approached her.  Bartle placed the tray on the floor, and crouched down beside her. “What’s wrong?”

He may have been a complete stranger who had labeled her with an alarming nickname, but Raina was somewhat comforted by the familiarity of his presence.  She turned her tear-stained cheeks toward him and took in a deep breath broken up with a staccato rhythm dictated by her spasming diaphragm.  Between gulps for air Raina explained, “I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

“You’re crying,” said Bartle.

Slightly amused by the response, Raina sniffed a brief laugh.  “I know that,” she went on.  “But what is all this?”  She gestured around the room. “Who are you? What’s going on? Where am I? How did we get here? Why is this happening?” She spouted off rapid-fire.

Puzzled, Bartle replied with a question of his own.  “You mean you don’t know?”

“Should I?”  Raina shook her head.  Her suspicions of insanity confirmed, she fell back into sobs.

“There, there,” Bartle wrapped his arms around her.  “It’s not all bad.  I’ve brought maple fudge bars, and honeysuckle tea for you.  Try some, and I’ll see if I can give you some answers.”

Raina obliged, and was glad she did.  One sip of tea spread a warm feeling throughout her core. She relaxed as she listened to Bartle’s answers.  He needed prodding however, as he clearly didn’t understand that she had no idea what was happening.

“Well, I’m Bartle,” he started.  “This is where I live.  I picked you up when you fell asleep on that yellow vehicle, and brought you here in my mother’s coach.”

“But where is ‘here?’” Raina asked.

“The Royal Cypress,” He stated matter-of-factly.

“Soo…California?”

After a brief chortle, Bartle smiled at her.  “Ah, I understand your question now, but I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you.  This place no longer has a name.  Over the years it has been called Guardian Forest, Spritely Woods, The Land of Celestial Beings, Spirit’s Passing, and countless other names. Frankly, keeping track of it all has been rather confusing for me.  I prefer just to call it Home.”

Her question still unaddressed, she spoke slowly, “is your home close to mine?”

“The distance between two worlds cannot be measured, but it does not take long to travel it.”

“I’m sorry, the distance between what?”  Raina inquired, taken aback by this piece of information.

Bartle cocked his head in surprise, “two worlds.”

To be continued... 

The Advice That Never Stuck

Found here

The first joke I remember telling happened when I was very young. I couldn't have been older than five. I vaguely recall hearing it on my favorite show, but I don't even know what character said it. I honestly can't remember which of my felt friends shared this comedic gem with me, but I do remember thinking that it was amusing enough to share.

Not long after that, I was strapped up in the back seat of PeeWee, our family mini van. My dad drove while I yammered on about each and every thought that crossed my mind. Knowing me, I probably shared everything I observed from peering out my window, asked a few questions about the nature of the world (seriously), and described the dramatically complex life of my invisible friend Little Min (I'm telling you that girl should have had her own blog). After ignoring my father's sarcastic comments (likely intended to teach me the conversational art of filtering) and only partially absorbing his developmentally advanced scientific answers to my queires, I finally saw my chance.

"Hey Dad," I called out.
"You don't have to say that every time," he responded. "I'm right here."
"Why did the chicken cross the playground?" I asked, unfazed by his remark.
"Why?"
"To get to the other slide!"

*Rimshot.*

*Pause for raucous laughter*

No, but seriously now... I obviously didn't split anyone's sides with this witty and inventive play on words. However, I did make my dad smirk, and I'll never forget his response.

"That's pretty good Min," he commended me. "Where did you learn that?"

"Sesame St," I replied honestly.

"That's great, but next time someone asks you that, tell them you made it up yourself."

My precocious little brain was completely bewildered by this advice. I know I understood the point, because I remember thinking that it would be more impressive if I had made it up myself. Nevertheless, I couldn't reconcile that thought with my need to tell the truth. In fact, the very next time I told this joke, I voluntarily admitted everything.

"My dad says I should tell you I made that up," I explained. "But I really just heard it on Sesame St."

I just couldn't do it. I could not take credit for another person's work. It felt wrong. Still does. To this day, whenever I tell that joke (and you'd be surprised how often that is), I follow it up with this back story. Although, despite the contradictory logic, I somehow think I got the right message. What do you think?

Laundering Life

Image found here

Part of my old job involved doing laundry for the classroom. I, like most typically raised and healthy people, looked at this as an annoying errand to be avoided. However, the kids I worked with were so starved for positive quality time with an adult, that they leapt at the chance to help out. If they saw us walking out the door with a basket, they generally asked to join us.

Originally, I could not understand their perspective. I hated doing laundry. I thought it was obnoxious, and, if I could, I would avoid it at all costs. Then, one particular trip changed all that.

I invited a child who had been working through something by shunning me and ignoring my attempts to spend time with him. I expected him to say no, but it didn't stop me from trying. Upon his refusal, a second child jumped up, lego jalopy in hand, and excitedly requested to join me. On our way out the door, the first child, slightly red in the face, abruptly changed his mind. Surprised, I obliged, and the three of us headed down the hallway, along with their feline driven lego vehicles.

The first child predictably ignored me throughout the walk. He didn't want to hold the basket, and he wasn't going to answer any of my questions. The second child, a curious comedian, chattered away between revving engines and an interjecting kitty pilot. He asked numerous questions about his favorite fictional characters and our existence in this world. Unaware of his own intent, the child began to pick at some startlingly deep philosophical subjects. Three steps ahead, the first child pretended to ignore us, but I made mental note of his slowing steps and sideways glances in our direction.

At the dryer, I stood back as the two boys divvied up the task of folding towels and filling the basket. I offered to help, but the burgeoning gentlemen denied my request. When they finished, the basket weighed more than each of them individually. With their lego contraptions in hand, it seemed difficult to believe they could manage it. I asked if they would like assistance, but they explained that they could do it together. So, they each grabbed a side with their tiny hands, and we set off back down the hall at a snail's pace. The basket began to list, and I offered to help once more. But, these boys were proud to be of use, and they understandably wanted to sustain that feeling.

As we neared the classroom, one of the lego kitties steered their car chaotically, and the basket careened out of control. Not wanting to hurt the boys' pride, but knowing one error could translate to complete failure in their minds, I casually slipped a finger under the back ridge and stabilized the load.

The second child sighed audibly and smiled at me.

"You make me feel happy," he said.

The first child slowed, looked the other direction, and muttered under his breath,

"Me too."

To these kids laundry was not a menial burden. It was an opportunity. This beautifully monotonous task provided them with the chance to demonstrate a skill, test out trust, and prove their worth. For a few brief moments, they got to walk alone with an adult outside of their chaotic environment. They could use the time to inquire about their deepest concerns or simply to experience the solace of safe companionship. They could experiment with showing appreciation under the guise of completing a required errand, and they were able to experience reciprocity.

When I looked at it through their eyes, this irritating obligation became something so monumental. It became an opportunity for people to spend time together, build a bond, and remind one another that they care.

Some Assembly Required

Throughout my childhood, whenever my family obtained something that required assembly the task was given to my father. He would don a self-impressed grin and sarcastically declare "this is a job for someone with a penis!"

That may seem rather chauvinistic, but I never took him at his words. It was clear that he was mocking conventional gender roles and his intended message was that a penis was not necessary. Er... um... perhaps a more eloquent explanation is that I always understood the graphic humor to be his way of saying that I could do anything I wanted.

My interpretation was evidenced by my routine tendency to follow him into whatever room the shiny new thing was placed, and assist in its construction. My job was usually to sit by, watch as he grunted out "man sounds" (think Tim "The Toolman" Taylor), and hand him the pieces as needed.

Inevitably, I'd revert to my faithful standby behavior of incessantly asking questions. Maybe I'd find a piece I couldn't recognize. I might have wondered how things fit together. Regardless of my reasons, I was typically always curious what the next step was, and what happened when we were done. These curiosities often left me waiting for my seemingly omnipotent father to provide me with the answers. Which he often did, in his own special way.

When he didn't know, or he was running out of patience, he'd finally declare:

"RTFM."
"What's that mean?" I'd ask innocently.
He'd smile and explain, "read the manual."

You'd think, with the number of times this happened in my life, I would have figured it out without needing to ask each time, but you'd be wrong. This came up every time we worked on a project together, and I was frequently left confused, wondering what the F stood for. On some level I must have known, because I never asked him. I faithfully accepted that he would have included it if it was important.

All of those years spent pondering the F out of it resulted in two very apparent lifelong instincts:

The first (and most trivial) is that now, whenever I see the letter F in an acronym, I assume it's an expletive. Then I giggle like that 8 year old girl watching her goofy father run wires along the back of a new computer desk.

More importantly, I come back to this advice often. I think of it when I don't know how to fix a problem, when I'm not sure what to do, and when I can't determine how to go on. When I find myself stuck and incapable of determining my next move, I see my dad behind a cabinet, or under a table, encouraging me to use my eyes and find the answers that have been provided for me.

Flawed Perception

I struggle with people who have disproportionately inaccurate mental representations of themselves. I find myself up against a barrier when attempting to relate to individuals who think themselves to be geniuses despite all evidence to the contrary. I can't connect with people who believe they have all the answers, but often supply superficial opinions in response to factual inquiries. I don't understand why wildly popular artists think that they have no skill. I am frustrated with smart people who routinely tell themselves they are dumb.

What's the deal? Why is it that some people are completely blind to their flaws, and others can't see their strengths?

There's the obvious exception for those who have had their beliefs repeatedly reinforced throughout their lives. I get that. It makes sense that self-esteem would be low when others have repeatedly devalued a person's worth. I get the inflated ego of a person raised by a self-esteem junkies.

What I can't figure out is those who fall outside of these categories. The people who had relatively typical upbringings. They had mixed successes and failures. However, the experiences that contradict their self-image were chocked up to luck or external influences. Their confirmation bias allows them to completely ignore that this is not a unique moment in their lives. Do they not see the common threads that point out errors in their judgment? Can they not understand praise/criticism?

My Humble Beginning

On my first day of working with troubled kids, I unknowingly walked into utter chaos. Children were screaming and crying. Kids swore, threw solid blocks at one another, and ran out of the building.  And a frighteningly thin cape-clad boy jumped from atop one wobbly shelf to the next.

Initially, I was barred from fully entering the room because a deceivingly adorable cherub-faced 2 year old was throwing an impressive tantrum by the door. I watched as he completely dysregulated, crawled under the table, and began to scream obscenities while also melodically chanting "you have a stupid face."

I felt ill-equipped to handle this situation. I wanted to turn around and run away as fast as possible, but, for reasons I still have yet to identify, I did not. I walked right into the middle of the room, and observed as things deteriorated. Eventually, I engaged a few children and immediately felt out of my league. The caped child jumped onto a shelf in my area. One kid with an indecipherable speech impediment set him off. A toy was thrown. I moved to intervene, and got pelted in the head with a piece of jagged plastic.

I remember feeling helpless and stupid. I thought it was obvious that I had no idea what to do. I was sure the staff could see I was a moron and had no business being there. Then a nearby therapist came over. I don't remember exactly what she did, but I do recall thinking she was a genius. In minutes, she had miraculously diffused the situation, coaxed the caped boy down, and carried him out of the room. I was in awe of her skill, and simultaneously abashed at my own pathetic attempt to help. When the group ended, I kept thinking how bad I was at this work, and how frightening the whole experience had been. The last thing I remember about that day is this magical therapist telling someone not to thank her for helping because she'd "carry that kid around in a cape any day." Her unconditional regard for that child intrigued me.

Not long after, I began to think my perceptions about my ability were off-base. I was asked to fulfill similar roles more often, and eventually recruited to join the treatment team. I had several opportunities to work directly with this magical therapist. Eventually, I began to tell  her that I felt scared and unskilled often. I was routinely galvanized by her responses to these disclosures. She assured me that not only could I handle terrifying scenarios, but I did it all the time.

Often I did not believe her. She'd try to prove it by citing her observations of my interventions. I'd insist they were always accidental and unintentional. Usually we would agree to disagree, but the knowledge that she believed in me always encouraged me to continue on despite my discomfort. Because of her support, I assisted in intense situations that I would normally avoid. I took on perplexing challenges, and I got to see astonishing growth in some very needy kids.

Just before I left that job to pursue further education, I received a card from her that said:

"You are so talented at this work. I hope you realize how gifted you are shortly so that you can have the most amazing career ever."

I'm not sure that's necessarily true, but as I near the beginning of my internship and prepare to be unleashed into the clinical world, I think of this therapist often. When I think about frightening aspects of my future career, I hear her voice saying "but you do that all the time." When I'm certain I don't know how to handle specific scenarios I remember her arguing with me about my ability.

None of it changes my perception. I still feel naive and unprepared, but now I question the necessity of these feelings. The memories of her perspective and the knowledge that someone I admire believes in me, give me courage to face my fears and help others to do the same.

Flying Bus-Pod

***The following is an excerpt from Raina's Story ****  

“Oh dear!” the voice exclaimed startling Raina out of her slumber.

Realizing that this voice was not one she had ever heard before, Raina froze. She clenched her eyes shut tight. I must still be dreaming, she thought to herself.

The bus began to bounce around wildly. She became ungrounded as her body was thrust side to side by the force of it.

“It will all be over soon,” the voice rationalized with itself. “It will all be over soon.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she received the magnitude of those words. Against her will, Raina’s eyes flew open. She entered the state of survival she had become all too accustom to. Disorientated, Raina found herself sitting atop the same seat she had taken solace in earlier, but it seemed to have been transported into an unfamiliar pod-like vehicle. Even more surprising, it was hurtling through the air. Outside her window, pink clouds flew past them in the opposite direction, and ahead were tree-tops. This bus-pod was going down.

“Oh! Good morning Love,” a stumpy man to her left greeted her with an expression that was clearly an attempt to suppress panic.

With great power, she pushed her eyelids closed once more. This can’t be happening, she pleaded with herself. I am still dreaming. Raina pulled a long-calming breath in through her nostrils. She opened her left eye as the air released between her heart-shaped lips.

“Don’t worry Love.” The man said with frenzied eyes. “It will all be over soon.”

Certain this was IT, she slammed her left eye closed and began to utter her prayers aloud. “This isn’t real.” She quickly whispered. “I’m sleeping. I’m on the bus on my way to school. I fell asleep. This is one of those really vivid dreams. Pretty soon Kevin will nudge me awake.”

But the only nudge that came was from the pudgy man behind the wheel, as a particularly large patch of turbulence sent him flying into her shoulder.

Forced, once again, to deal with a reality she didn’t expect, Raina grunted uncomfortably as she pushed the man off of her. She looked around, they had flattened out a little, but they were in the trees now. Knowing it was all going to end soon, Raina couldn’t let herself die without some answers.

“Who are you?!” she bellowed”

If it was possible, the man looked even more startled. “It’s me,” He answered, patting sweat beads off his glistening scalp. “Bartle.”

Oh, right! Bartle.

“WHO?!” Raina retorted.

However, time was up, and she didn’t get a response. The bus-bench pod slammed into the dirt, and Raina’s head was thrust between her legs. Bartle leaned across her back, but she was too frightened to push back. They propelled forward for what seemed like hours, but was likely only seconds. Curious when it was going to end, Raina looked up. She saw that they were headed straight for the largest tree trunk she had ever seen. Her life shifted back into slow motion. Raina stepped outside herself, and listened as her body screamed in preparation for what was to come.

“It will all be over soon Love,” Bartle repeated himself.

To Be Continued...

Their Life

**The following is an excerpt from Raina's Story **

Just before school started that year, Mean Mark got a job as a janitor at the court house. He resented this job. Raina could tell by his exceptionally sour mood in the evenings. It had to be demeaning to clean up after a system that you helped support for so many years. But, Raina was thankful that Mean Mark had something to do during the day, other than drink himself into an angry stupor.

Tam was in kindergarten now; getting older all the time. Pretty soon he wouldn’t fall for Raina’s tricks. He’d know that she’d been keeping him from the reality of their situation. But for now, he was still that sweet little boy she helped raise.

This morning, like every other, Raina awoke before her brother. Quietly, she danced her daily routine around his mattress as she gathered her things. Then, she gently tapped her brother. She started by humming the tune. When he didn’t open those adorable sleepy brown eyes, Raina began to sing the very same lyrics her mother had sang to her.

“Little one, arise

The sun has come.

We take to the skies

For the day is here.

Little one, awake

We’ll beat the bedlam.

No need to fake

Together there is no fear”

Tam scrunched up his face and turned his head towards her. He opened his mouth in a drawn out yawn, and mumbled something that sounded like “the other ones too.” Then he opened his big brown eyes, and smiled at his sister. He pulled in a long breath of air through his nose, and let out with a relieved “Wain-uh.”

“Time for school sleepyhead,” She said tossing his blond hair. Raina pointed to the foot of his mattress. “Your clothes are right here. I’ll meet you by the door.”

Now that Tam could dress himself, Raina had time to pack them some snacks to eat during lunch. Today was a good day. They each got a bag of chips and half an apple. It wasn’t much, but it added some nutrition to the government funded potato paste and mystery meat the schools stuck to their trays every day. She wrapped the apple halves in napkins, and, just as she finished zipping up their bags, Tam bounded into the kitchen.

“When I was sleeping you were a princess and Mommy saved us!” He exclaimed.

Raina froze.

“What’s that?!” Mean Mark groaned angrily as he sat up in his recliner.

She stepped in front of her brother and braced for the reaction, but Mark wasn’t fully awake this time. He shrugged with unfixed eyes, and whined incomprehensibly before laying back down. Raina couldn’t be quite sure, but it sounded as if his complaint had ended in “her kids.”

When she turned around, Raina found Tam cringed with one eye squinted shut, and the other trained on her. She relaxed her posture, placed one finger over her lips, and tilted her head towards the door. Relieved, Tam opened both his eyes, and tip-toed out of the apartment. Raina shouldered both of their bags and fixed her green eyes on their unwilling guardian as she followed her brother.

When they reached the pavement at the bottom of the steps, she handed him his bag. “You need to be more careful buddy. Mark works really hard to take care of us,” she lied. “He needs his rest.”

Tam slipped his arms into each of the straps, then shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sorry Wain-uh,” he said as he kicked at a pebble by the curb.

It wasn’t necessary. She couldn’t be mad at this sweet little boy. He deserved more than that. She poked him in the stomach, then headed off down the sidewalk. “No sweat Tam-tam.” He stifled a giggle, and ran after her.

“So, a princess again?” Raina inquired.

“Yeah!” Tam lit up. “And Mommy saved us this time!”

Together they walked the half mile to the local elementary school. Raina listened as Tam recounted the most recent version of his dreams. She should be flattered. Raina was a prominent figure in her brother’s dreams. She was always fighting off bad guys, or perched above him looking off in the distance. Sometimes she even flew. It was sweet really, but Raina couldn't help feeling overwhelmed by it all.

When they arrived at Tam’s school, Raina muffled a yawn. She loved her brother, but this was her release. After he entered his classroom, Raina could let go. She didn’t need to answer to anyone for the next seven hours. She got to be a kid again, and letting go of her responsibilities just reminded her how exhausting their life had become. At home, she never let her guard down, but this time was hers.

She kissed Tam’s forehead, and watched his Peter Pan backpack bounce up and down as he walked through the doors. Then she pulled away. Knowing they were both safe, she pushed her world behind her, and walked across the street to the bus stop. Dazed, she waited as her classmates gathered around her. As she climbed aboard her yellow transport, the girls giggled about the upcoming dance. She barely even heard the boys pick apart the most recent football game when she settled into her seat. She was too tired to focus on any of it. She only half nodded when Kevin, her lab partner, asked to sit with her.

Raina closed her eyes. She was just going to rest them a little on the way to school. She never actually thought she would fall asleep, but she felt herself drift off before the next stop. The bus must have turned east, because the rising sun made a rainbow of colors dance across her eyelids. She felt warmth spread over her body as her head dipped to the left. With increasing heaviness, her brow settled into Kevin’s shoulder. Raina felt an arm wrap around her own shoulder, but she was too far gone to question it. She didn’t even notice when an unfamiliar voice said “we’re almost there Love.”

To be continued...

A Hero for Midge

When we were kids, my brother used to pick on me. He poked me repeatedly until my shoulder was raw. When the phone rang for me, he held it captive while sitting on my stomach until I gave in and admitted he was king or insulted myself. When we were home alone, he threw nickels at my head.

But, he was my brother all the same. We built forts together. When I was scared, we hid in his room. He walked me to school on my first day of kindergarten. Then he feigned exasperation as he returned my wave in the halls. We played games against one another on our parents' computers, and we danced like fools when our favorite shows came on the television.

He was bigger, and older, so my brother nearly always picked. Everything. TV shows. Radio Stations. Video games. Movies. The occasional book. For this reason, I logged many hours grudgingly learning about G.I. Joes, Calvin and Hobbes, Power Rangers, and most all comic superheroes.

I never thought of my brother as a protective one. Sure, he helped me out occasionally, but mostly with menial tasks that weren't significant enough to be remembered distinctly. When it came to more distressing issues, he didn't seem willing to come to my aid. I specifically remember asking him once to beat up someone who had wronged me. He turned me down.

"Handle it yourself Midge," he told me, seemingly indifferent to my struggles.

Secretly, I craved a brother that cared enough to come to my rescue. I wanted someone to protect me from the bullies of the world. I yearned for him to shelter me from bad experiences, and lift me up when I couldn't reach my solutions. But most of all, I wanted a brother I could be closer to.

As I step tentatively into adulthood, foraging my path and tripping along the way, I'm beginning to see the past differently. As a child, I hated my involuntary exposure to the modern mythology of superheroes. Now, I have developed a kind of affinity for them. I enjoy the stories hidden below the surface. With a more mature vantage point, I see the subtle communication about the human condition. I recognize the archetypes, and I am beginning to understand the allegories.

No one escapes from this world. One way or another, we are all forced to deal with the realities of our existence. Learning to cope, respond, and overcome this is vital, and help often comes in an unexpected costume.

I hadn't seen it before, but my brother was preparing me for this experience. That distance I saw between us was merely perceived. When it came to navigating the complexities of the world, he was actually an incredible guide. He has always been there, watching me from the sidelines. By pulling back, my brother was protecting me. He was sending me a message:

"You are strong, and you can do this."

So, I no longer wish for the stereotypical older brother to loom over me, fight my battles, and hold me back from the world. I understand now, that what I have is infinitely better. I may not see him all the time, but I know that he's there motivating and protecting me in a way that only super heroes can.