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Nov. 7th, 2003 06:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
urocyonI hadn't thought of my stepbrother, Joey, in a while, and that last post reminded me. I may not have seen him since 1986, but I still think about him reasonably often, and wonder how he's doing. Risking a touch of melodrama, I wonder if he managed to turn out passably sane and functional, given the conditions in which he was raised.
I liked Joey. He may have been four years older, but he spent time with me and seemed to regard me as an equal when I was forced to visit. Part of this may have been due to the fact that his mother and Bill Brewer (the most neutral term I've found to refer to my "real" father) strongly discouraged him from having friends--and who would be jealous of their attention being shared? As I mentioned, he came in for the worst of it, even when I was there, but he didn't seem to resent me for it. I suspect he was too cowed and under some impression that he deserved such treatment. Even at the time, I recognised that Joey was emotionally damaged/not very strong and would take the blame whenever I could for (generally imagined) transgressions. I didn't grow up under those conditions--I'd always known that I was loved and valued--and I have a firm core of stubbornness, so the treatment didn't have the same effect on me. Which is not to say that it had no effect.
Joey is extremely bright, and must have learned to cope in school, despite the Nutballs' pulling him out of Special Ed for a couple of learning disabilies. (As an aside, Mr. Nutball strongly objected to my being placed in some accelerated courses, including one university-level one, as a "waste", within my hearing. Similar things were said about my pursuing instrumental music and dance instruction.) A couple of years back, I felt an urge to see if I could find anything on Joey through Google (his last name is just unusual enough for that not to be a waste of time). I did find that he'd graduated in 1990 from a high school in the area in which the bunch was last known to be living. I had heard that he had joined the U.S. Army (probably seemed one of the better career options), and at last check, through a DOD payroll search, he was a Sergeant. I couldn't help but be pleased that he'd gotten away from those poisonous people and made a good start at making a life for himself, in spite of being told all his life that he was worthless and stupid.
I've felt some urges to get in touch with the man, though the idea makes me nervous. I may have felt a connection with him when we were younger, but have no idea how much we might have in common now, and I'm not entirely sure he'd be pleased to hear from me. Particularly based on so little knowledge, I am also wary of his mental and emotional state after living with those people so long, with no guarantees that he's gotten any sort of help or come to healthy terms with it on his own. I like to think that he's made a break, but it is also possible that he hasn't, and I do not want news of our talking getting back to them. This is one of the somewhat rare cases in which it really is better not to go stirring in a nest of vipers and draw their attention. (And I do not tend to be afraid of conflict.) This "get in touch or not get in touch" quandary has periodically bothered me for several years now, and I fear that there is no easy answer.
I liked Joey. He may have been four years older, but he spent time with me and seemed to regard me as an equal when I was forced to visit. Part of this may have been due to the fact that his mother and Bill Brewer (the most neutral term I've found to refer to my "real" father) strongly discouraged him from having friends--and who would be jealous of their attention being shared? As I mentioned, he came in for the worst of it, even when I was there, but he didn't seem to resent me for it. I suspect he was too cowed and under some impression that he deserved such treatment. Even at the time, I recognised that Joey was emotionally damaged/not very strong and would take the blame whenever I could for (generally imagined) transgressions. I didn't grow up under those conditions--I'd always known that I was loved and valued--and I have a firm core of stubbornness, so the treatment didn't have the same effect on me. Which is not to say that it had no effect.
Joey is extremely bright, and must have learned to cope in school, despite the Nutballs' pulling him out of Special Ed for a couple of learning disabilies. (As an aside, Mr. Nutball strongly objected to my being placed in some accelerated courses, including one university-level one, as a "waste", within my hearing. Similar things were said about my pursuing instrumental music and dance instruction.) A couple of years back, I felt an urge to see if I could find anything on Joey through Google (his last name is just unusual enough for that not to be a waste of time). I did find that he'd graduated in 1990 from a high school in the area in which the bunch was last known to be living. I had heard that he had joined the U.S. Army (probably seemed one of the better career options), and at last check, through a DOD payroll search, he was a Sergeant. I couldn't help but be pleased that he'd gotten away from those poisonous people and made a good start at making a life for himself, in spite of being told all his life that he was worthless and stupid.
I've felt some urges to get in touch with the man, though the idea makes me nervous. I may have felt a connection with him when we were younger, but have no idea how much we might have in common now, and I'm not entirely sure he'd be pleased to hear from me. Particularly based on so little knowledge, I am also wary of his mental and emotional state after living with those people so long, with no guarantees that he's gotten any sort of help or come to healthy terms with it on his own. I like to think that he's made a break, but it is also possible that he hasn't, and I do not want news of our talking getting back to them. This is one of the somewhat rare cases in which it really is better not to go stirring in a nest of vipers and draw their attention. (And I do not tend to be afraid of conflict.) This "get in touch or not get in touch" quandary has periodically bothered me for several years now, and I fear that there is no easy answer.
