"And how's your brother doing these days?"
It's the one question I can count on being asked time and time again when I visit my hometown.
Former co-workers, people from the church I went to growing up, high school friends...it's one of those queries that comes up in all my social groups, as natural as asking about my job or my partner or whether or not the weather was nice during the drive from New Brunswick to Nova Scotia.
It's the question that lurks on the other side of the initial catch-up small talk, waiting patiently for its turn to be released, to be voiced, to be indulged. It doesn't matter how long it's been since I've been home or how long it's been since I've seen the person I'm speaking with, if they knew me growing up, it's one of those things that's bound to come up.
It's inevitable.
It wasn't always like this. Growing up, I think it would be fair to say things were different, if for no other reason than because my brother and I are two very different people. I've always been a high achiever, a perfectionist A-student involved in a variety of different activities. I wasn't popular (quite the opposite, actually) but I had several close friends. My speciality: being really good at being really good.
Then there was my brother. He struggled with school, both when it came to grades and making friends. If I was unpopular, he was whatever fell below unpopular. I used to say kids picked on him all the time, but that's just a cutesy way of saying he was bullied. As if that wasn't enough, he was also trapped in a vicious cycle of comparison - something I've only started to understand looking back at my childhood as an adult.
"He's just not as smart as Tara when it comes to academics."
"He doesn't make friends the way Tara does."
"He's so out of control these days! Why can't he be more like Tara?"
And so on. For years.
Against that backdrop, it wasn't really surprising when he started getting into trouble. I had been living with my grandparents for several months when the situation at my father's house deteriorated to the point where my brother came to join me. But going from living without rules, without any real parental guidance, to a place where there were clear behaviour expectations wasn't an easy shift for my brother. I can't remember how long my brother stayed with my grandparents, but I know it wasn't terribly long before it was too much to handle and he was off to his first foster home.
That's about as far into the details as I can go - the rest is not my story to tell - except to say it has been a continuous downward spiral from there. And even though they've changed, the comparisons have not stopped:
"You've done so much better for yourself than your brother."
"You and your brother both had the same opportunities. You just chose to take advantage of them."
"Man. It's so crazy to think about how different you and your brother are!"
What I'm getting at is this: I can't remember a time when I didn't feel defined, at least in some sense, through comparison to my brother.
That made reading Saint Anything, Sarah Dessen's latest book, a total punch in the gut.
It's not a secret Sarah Dessen is my favourite author. I've read all of her books, all more than once. One of the first things I do every summer is re-read Keeping the Moon. My copy of What Happened to Goodbye? was a graduation gift from Jeff - we had only been dating for about five or six months at the time, but he knew that was the thing I wanted most at the time. Someone Like You is my favourite book of all time - it wasn't the book that made me fall in love with reading (I was already a big reader by the time I checked it out of our local library) but it was the book that made me want to be a writer.
The thing I like most about Sarah Dessen is the way she crafts realistic stories about issues teens face. At a time in young adult fiction where vampires who sparkle and tales of adventures in dystopian worlds dominate bookstore shelves, I find it refreshing to read a book where I feel like I can relate to the characters and the challenges they come up against. That was definitely how I felt reading Sydney's story in Saint Anything.
In the interest of not spoiling the book for anyone who might want to read it, this is the book jacket summary.
Peyton, Sydney’s charismatic older brother, has always been the star of the family, receiving the lion’s share of their parents’ attention and—lately—concern. When Peyton’s increasingly reckless behavior culminates in an accident, a drunk driving conviction, and a jail sentence, Sydney is cast adrift, searching for her place in the family and the world. When everyone else is so worried about Peyton, is she the only one concerned about the victim of the accident?
Enter the Chathams, a warm, chaotic family who run a pizza parlor, play bluegrass on weekends, and pitch in to care for their mother, who has multiple sclerosis. Here Sydney experiences unquestioning acceptance. And here she meets Mac, gentle, watchful, and protective, who makes Sydney feel seen, really seen, for the first time.
Although I wouldn't say my experience mirrors Sydney's, that feeling of being cast adrift and left to fend for oneself while a sibling commands the bulk of the attention and concern from those around you is something I know all about. I knew this book would be a difficult read when I read the summary before its release but I wasn't prepared for the emotions that would come with seeing what is, for all intents and purposes, the story of my life down on paper in front of me.In Sydney's case, Peyton's larger-than-life personality and problems cast a shadow over her and left her feeling invisible. I've found living a life where you constantly feel you're defined by comparisons to another to have a similar effect. You feel known for who you're not instead of who you are. My brother and I don't have a lot in common, but that's something we share.
Now, all that said, I'm OK. More than OK, actually - I'm doing really great. That's the other thing Sarah Dessen nailed in this book: people like Sydney and I, we do find our way. We find places to grow and we find people who see us for who we are, not just in contrast to some element of our history. We acknowledge our past, our history, and accept it for what it is. We forgive. We learn to love deeply.
We let go.
And we move forward.
I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine. As the Father knoweth me, even so know I the Father: and I lay down my life for the sheep.
John 10:14-15
+ in a crowd of 10,000, You don't miss a thing.
