—
My brother Alex is twelve years younger than I am. I remember the day I overheard my parents’ decision to have a second child. I was devastated and cried all night.
During my nine-month grace period to adjust to the idea of a sibling, I managed to change my attitude. Eventually, I warmed to the idea, especially when I found out I was getting a brother. I grew up in the country and didn’t have many friends besides television. Alex was coming too late to alleviate my loneliness growing up, but at least I would get a few years to hang out with a mini-me and be his hero.
I’ve often said it’s like my parents had two “only children.” Alex’s childhood, however, was much different from mine.
|
Or so I thought. Since birth Alex has had problems, first medical and then developmental. It started with a heart problem. Instead of coming home from the hospital, he was sent to the Children’s Hospital in Birmingham. A few months later, doctors began noticing slight physical quirks and wound up scrutinizing everything from his eye spacing to his archless feet to the birthmark on the back of his neck. As he grew older, it became clear that his social skills were lacking, further contributing to the cloud of not-quite-rightness that had hovered over him his whole life.
After years of analysis, Alex was officially diagnosed with Pervasive Developmental Disorder or PDD. That means Alex is a mixed bag of Autism, Asperger’s, and OCD with some physical abnormalities thrown in for good measure. He’s “high-functioning,” though, which means he’s capable of a lot more than people give him credit for.
The timing of Alex’s birth couldn’t have been better. I was mature enough to handle some added responsibility, but I was still in my formative pre-teen years. Having Alex, especially with his problems, forced me to share the spotlight and become aware of others’ needs. I credit Alex with helping me learn to be more considerate. And so it was until he went to kindergarten and I went to college.
I’ve often said it’s like my parents had two “only children.” Alex’s childhood, however, was much different from mine for two reasons. First, while I was growing up my dad was still building his business. When Alex came along, that business was established and successful. Second, Alex’s problems demanded more of my parents’ time and attention than I ever had. Because of these differences, Alex not only got to do a lot of things I never did but also (more importantly) had a fuller relationship with my parents than I did.
For several years Alex and I had almost no interaction. When I was in college, I rarely came home except for holidays and a perfunctory monthly visit. After that. I got married and started my family. We would visit my parents some, but Alex was just a goofy kid that kept to himself. It wasn’t until he was about 13 or 14 that Alex started trying to reconnect with me. Of all people, I should have understood his loneliness. But when he needed me, I failed him.
I hated him because I felt like my parents loved him for free but I always had to earn it. I hated him because, despite his weakness, he was my equal.
|
Alex’s body was maturing, but his mind was not. That made it hard for me to have a conversation with him without getting uncomfortable and irritated. Rather than loving him enough to put forth the effort to meet him halfway on a topic I wasn’t interested in, I would become short, snappy, and critical. All he ever wanted was a connection; in return, I ignored and belittled him. It was oblivious to it, as though he didn’t deserve better. The worst part is that I was trying to present him with a Christian example through what I said while my actions spoke pure cruelty.
Through prayer, awkward silence with my parents, and getting fussed at by my wife, I slowly recognized that I had a problem. It didn’t change my behavior at first, but now I would feel terrible afterward. On top of that, it was supremely frustrating because I had no idea why I was being a jerk.
Then one day about three years ago it made sense. I read a story about a village in Africa where everybody was suddenly getting sick. Scientists (or somebody) did some research and realized their water supply was tainted. They sent divers to the spring that fed the river and found some pigs that had fallen in and drowned, poisoning the water. True story or not, the author’s point was that things can look pure and clean on the surface yet be polluted at the source.
I knew then that God was telling me to search my heart. As I prayed about Alex and how I had been treating him, I realized that I hated him. That broke my heart because I knew it wasn’t his fault. I kept praying and realized the hate was rooted in bitterness.
I hated him because of the extra attention. I hated him because he embodied everything I hated about myself, yet he lacked the drive to fix any of it. I hated him because I felt like my parents loved him for free but I always had to earn it. I hated him because, despite his weakness, he was my equal.
I’ve learned that Alex isn’t a problem to solve but a person to savor.
|
That night I prayed, cried, snotted, and forgave him for everything he had never done. I also forgave my parents for doing their best to give him a normal life.
A few nights later, my parents invited my family over for dinner. We had all been at the table for a few minutes when I said, “Alex, I have something to say to you. I’ve been mean to you for the last few years, and I’m sorry. I’m going to try to do better. Can you forgive me?” My wife stopped mid-chew, my mom teared up, and for once my dad was speechless. Alex had a bewildered look on his face and managed an “Okay.” Mom spoke for everybody when she said, “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”
In the three years since I stopped hating Alex, he has hit an emotional growth spurt. He had his first girlfriend and maintained the relationship for about a year. His college grades have improved. He had his first job through a local program for people with disabilities, and when the program ended he found another job by himself on campus. He got his driver’s license and is always pushing the limits on how far my parents will let him drive on his own. For the first time in his life, Alex is confident and happy. I know his progress is the result of much prayer and my parents’ diligence, but I hope that I’ve contributed by showing him love, kindness, and respect.
I still struggle to connect with Alex. We’re trying to spend more time together so our relationship can be built on shared experiences instead of movie quotes. Sometimes I catch myself being a little harsh, but I believe it’s motivated by love because I want to see him push himself to thrive. The words of I John 4:20 ring true: “He that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?” Letting go of my hate has made be a better brother and a better Christian.
I’ve learned that Alex isn’t a problem to solve but a person to savor. He has his odd points, but so does everybody. When I see my faults in him, it’s not my place to fixate and criticize. He’ll work through them in his time, just like I have. Alex is Alex, and he’s a sweet guy. I’m blessed to call him my brother.
◊♦◊
Photo: GettyImages