My brother and I used to be fairly close back in the late seventies and eighties. I got into a lot of trouble in the seventies, and almost went to prison. My family stuck by me all the way.
My brother used to invite me over for bbq every Saturday evening. They always took me out for my birthday.
My brother and I had this banter that we spoke to each other like a couple of distinguished English gentlemen.
We would sample to liquor together.
He drank my homebrew beer and never criticized it, even though at times the quality might not have been at its peak.
We would often reminisce about when we were kids growing up together. Many a conversation began with “remember when?”
His wife began to roll her eyes when my brother and I spoke of our childhood. I never understood her reluctance to listen. It was like she didn’t want me reminding him of the days when she had no control over him.
Over the years, since they were married, I have watched my brother go from being strong and independent to a pussy whipped poor excuse of a man…sorry to say.
As with most of the fucked up things in my life, it’s probably my fault.