2nd Place Winner: Carol Kim

My Brother Charles

I answer the questions about my favorite classes and my extracurricular activities easily enough, but then I reach the big three-parter: What is your biggest strength? What is your biggest weakness? Elaborate. I have a sigh that sends the various memos and magazine clippings on the wall fluttering.

The sound of the door swinging open breaks me out of the pre-college application quasi-angst that has, alarmingly, begun to permeate my regular routine. My brother stands outside the doorway, a hand raised to his mouth. He peers into my room, craning his neck this and that way, as if he is searching for something. I let out another sigh and ask, "What is it?" He says nothing. I pick up my pencil and continue on to easier queries in the questionnaire that was given to me by my college counselor.

I see my brother out of the corner of my eye as I jot down answers, he doesn't move. After a few minutes I get up and walk over to the doorway."What do you want?"
"Want," he repeats, his voice is muffled by the hand over his mouth.
"No, what do you want?"
"Want."
"Don't just repeat what I'm saying."
"Saying."
"No." I hold his unoccupied hand in mine and stare at him intently. He glances at me, no, he glances past me, and rolls his head to the left and then the right, and bibs the other hand up and down in front of his mouth several times. I want eye contact, but he's interested in anything but.

My brother Charles is autistic and mentally retarded, in addition to having a slight walking disability due to cerebral palsy. As a child I never considered this odd or burdensome; he is only a year younger than I am, so to me he has always been a normal, constant part of my life. And as a child, he wasn't particularly odd or burdensome, and I enjoyed having a little brother to play with and the boss around. The fact that he couldn't speak more than a handful of words or that he had trouble feeding himself never struck out to me as much of an issue, because he was a sweet if troublemaking boy, and his infectious grin had an endearingly mischievous quality about it. But then came adolescence.

My entry into adolescence was characterized by overindulgence in moping and faux-cynicism. My brother's was characterized by a marked increase in temper tantrums. That may not sound all that unusual, but as far as I know the average teenager doesn't vent his feelings by hitting his own face until his cheeks become bruised, or by throwing VCRs down the stairs, or by jumping up and down to the merry melodies of Barney and friends, or by yanking at their mother's hair as she attempts to drive him to school.

One day, after he dismantled what must have been his tenth VCR, splattered soup all over the living room walls, and slapped me in the face, I screamed that my greatest wish was that he would die. I don't think he understood me; I hope he didn't understand me. That declaration was anything but the truth, but I was so self-absorbed that I think some part of me really did believe that I would be happier without him.

My greatest weakness? At this point in my life, I'd have to say that it's my selfishness. Responsibly speaking, I don't think it's much of a stretch to think that I would be happier without an occasionally violent, bothersome sibling whose actions I can barely (and often don't) understand, and with whom I am embarrassed to be seen with in public. Truthfully speaking I am blessed to have Charles in my life, and that I am far happier than I would be without him.

When I was six and my brother was five, our family visited the Baltimore Zoo. My brother and I wanted to ride a huge slide there, so we made our way up the packed staircase. Charles walked slowly and with careful effort, and I gripped his hand to make sure he didn't fall. A woman behind us said in frustration,"Why doesn't he mover faster? Hurry up!" I was outraged, but I politely told the women that my brother has a walking disability and must go slower than other boys his age. I was less polite to a boy I met at a party who called my brother stupid; I punched the insolent whelp in retaliation (I was eight). Violence was clearly not the answer, but even at a young age I recognized how disgusting ignorance was. I realize now that without Charles, I could have become like the woman at the zoo, or the boy at the party. Without Charles, I could reach new and amazing heights of selfishness, caring only for myself. Selfishness may only be natural, but it is no excuse for ignorance and intolerance.

My brother is a constant reminder that I have the good life, and no matter how much I complain, deep down past the woe-is-me musing of a teenage, I know that because of him, I can truly appreciate the happiness that I have. As I stand in the doorway, one hand gripping his just as I did when we were children, he suddenly makes eye contact with me, and that endearing mischievous grin lights up his face. A smile forms across my own. I know just how I'm going to answer that big three-parter question.