Sunday, March 20, 2011

ADMISSION #2

In April of 1952, my younger brother, Alan, came into the family.  I was five and a half.  I wasn't a very happy camper about having this new little person usurp my place in the family.  In fact, I confess.  I was very jealous.  I didn't like the idea that he was requiring my mother's attention and in general had upset my little world.

I'm not proud of the fact that I was very mean  to my brother.  I remember that there were times when I would dig my fingernails into his arm, sometimes hard enough that it bled.  When I was related this to my husband recently, he asked me if my parents ever did anything about my behavior towards Alan.  I told him that I don't really remember.  They must have disciplined me in some way. But it took a long time  for those feelings of jealousy to go away.

For most of my adult life, I've regretted the way I treated my brother. This is not only my confession of bad behavior, but my public apology to Alan.  So, Al, if you are reading this blog.  I'm sorry.

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