Have you ever felt just less than? Like you didn’t measure up? I’ve felt that way most of my life, even though there are those around me who’d find it hard to believe. My mom would always talk about how smart my eldest brother was, or is, in doing everything quite early. Walking, talking, reading. Her prodigy.
In addition to being the oldest boy, named after our father, my brother was a genius & go-getter, regional leader of the Key Club, smart enough to get into Dartmouth, Stanford, & MIT, & better yet, graduate from all of them studying one of the toughest majors–engineering. And I’ve never resented his natural intelligence, his ability to get out & ascend the social ladder. Actually, I’ve been proud of him, still am.
And yet, I feel like I’m not good enough, no matter what I do or accomplish. Forever apologizing, as an unplanned child with older parents for whom I caused additional stress in terms of energy & resources. At least, it felt that way. Several brothers teased me about this through the years, as brothers do.
My eldest brother was far cooler. He traveled abroad to Germany to see our distant relatives (hanging the German flag on his bedroom wall), & he played the French horn, kept as a relic in the attic over the garage. (I’d look at it & wish I had been more musical.) Cultured & motivated, my brother seemed perfect, attaining achievement & prosperity. He pursued a life very different from the one in which we grew up, & I couldn’t fault him for that. If anything, I admired him.
To rise out of our economically depressed former mill town in New Hampshire was a pretty big deal. Still is. What was hardest for me was attending the same high school my brother attended & having my 10th grade Algebra teacher point out to me, with regular frequency, her disappointment that I lacked the same innate aptitude to excel in abstract math without instruction. I joined the math team, doubled up on honors math courses, & for what? To prove to her I was indeed worthy?
That was the worst period of my academics, getting abysmally low grades & nearly being kicked out of the honors program. A move to another state & a great school system helped me turn that around, thankfully.
The weird thing is that my brother never even accepted compliments about his intelligence, seemed almost embarrassed by it. He’s still like this. He’ll quickly change the subject or downplay his major accomplishments. Heck, he doesn’t even tell his own kids about the recognition he receives for his work. Everyone’s proud of him, & it’s as if he doesn’t want it pointed out or noticed. Especially from my mother. I can see his discomfort when she overflows with pride. But he was her first, & that’s no small thing.
There’s a reason studies say that first-born children are more likely to be driven, senators or executives.
Anyway, it’s hard to not think about my eldest brother’s steamer trunk covered with cool stickers, proving his cosmopolitan ways even as a young adult. There was something exotic about this, & since I rarely saw him when I was little, the stories were what lived on most in my imagination. It’s strange how family dynamics work, how formative memories & experiences can shape our senses of self, despite decades & years of education. We default to what we know, & it’s hard to forget your roots.
It’s as if those experiences & memories become the luggage we store in our minds, collecting dust until we clear the cobwebs & open the trunks, once more gazing upon our family’s history to inspect what remains.
