My brother David and I have always shared a rather special relationship. He was almost nine years old when I arrived, the youngest of the four siblings. Michael, four years my senior, became my playmate and confidante. If I needed love or comfort, Michael was my haven from Mum's inconsistency. Simon, seven years older, kept his cards very close to his chest to survive the daily chaos of our household. I only discovered later that Simon was a hilarious, generous and exceeding interesting soul.
Mum, consumed by her mental health illness for much of her life, was manipulative and divisive. She had always wanted 'a happy family' but her reality revolved around being the centre of attention. So, she played us off one against the other, each of us always believing that somebody else in our house was her favourite.
David copped a great deal of flack from her. Mum floundered with having a boisterous handful as her first born. When Simon came along two years later, her attention turned more to him. Thus, Simon and David fought like cat and dog during their childhood. This just exacerbated the tension at home. When I was six, David was packed off to boarding school as Mum's solution to the situation. Interestingly, David and Simon became great buddies as they entered adulthood.
During David's indictment, plans were hatched to move into a bigger house. Dad was as pleased as punch to secure a brand new double storied house across the other side of the city from where we were living. Changing schools in the middle of year 4 was harrowing for me. As a red haired girl with buck teeth and freckles, I was teased mercilessly by a bunch of much more sophisticated girls. Michael was still my guardian angel, but Dave and I embarked on a voyage of mutual discovery. Maybe because we were two misfits.
Within the confines of his turquoise coloured basement bedroom, he introduced me to the music of the late sixties. Herman and the Hermits, Joe Cocker and the Beach Boys blared out of his record player. His room became the scene of my very mild rebellion. I felt honoured that my big brother actually encouraged my presence.
Five years in Sydney was a blip in our relationship. David and Simon remained in Brisbane and the rest of us moved to the very big city. Michael did not cope, at fifteen, with the Dark Ages of his new school and quickly descended into his own private hell. The second he was able, he fled the remains of our completely dysfunctional family. Simon chose to restrict his visits. At uni in Brisbane, he could not cope with the ever present drinking and then the shouting that coloured any time with Mum and Dad. Dave did try to keep in contact and I treasured his companionship whenever he was with me.
Back to the Gold Coast at the end of year 11. My third high school. Fortunately, my new classmates had grown out of bullying, but apart from Vicki Lea Baker, who became my best friend, I didn't really have much more than acquaintances. And there was always the fear of Mum's behaviour if I did have a friend at home.
One lass that did visit was one Susie Hansen. Dave also happened to be at home that weekend. Susie, the product of a Danish father and Czechoslovakian mother, was voluptuously stunning. I had never witnessed Dave in the company of such a gorgeous creature. His eyeballs shot out of his head on stalks during his encounter with Susie, her bikini and our swimming pool. I must admit that occasion has amused me for the last forty-five years. And Dave promptly released that I was actually growing up.
I saw little of any of my brothers after I moved west. However, Mum's death was the catalyst for all of us joining together again. After thirty-nine years, I was reunited with Michael. We exchanged observations and beliefs from our fractured relationships with Mum. We discovered the mistruths, the deceptions, the constant shifting of her calculating affection that caused so much harm. I loved Mum, but I don't miss her one iota. However, out of her passing came some colossal good.
Coronavirus has really put the kybosh on any sibling reunion for the time being. However, thanks the the phone and the internet, we are able to stay in contact. In my case, in spite of the best of intentions, my efforts are fairly spasmodic and usually unpunctual.
Dave turned sixty-nine on 22 August. My realisation that this darling brother of mine is approaching seventy is almost beyond comprehension. His boyish charm, quirky sense of humour and all round nice guy belies his years. Happily settled into retirement with the fabulous Kerin and now elderly dog Kenzo, I wish Dave a wonderfully belated birthday and look forward to the day that we can clap eyes on each other again.
Love you, Dave.
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