🔵 By Timothy Brunner. Photo by lauragrafie.
It amuses me at times to look backwards into my life and to be able to observe the changes in perspective that were imposed upon me. I do not mean the amusement of entertainment or hilarity as we modern people understand it, but a more archaic connotation of the word. I am amused as when a muse would inspire one. Looking upon those changes inspires me through a muse, just not one of comedy.
There is much history that primed, molded, and sculpted the perspective of this younger me which is not available here, but I will alow you to imagine that history for now. I want the wonder at such an innocence twisted to open your mind to the influences of Melpomene for the tragedy of such loss is powerful. And at times amusing in an inspirational way.
Age is a time construct that isn’t properly scale until a certain point in life, and this boy was too young to care for such boxes and definitions. He simply was, and he was a boy. I know him to have been about four years old, but he had no idea what that would mean. He was definitely not a baby, though.
This particular day, this boy was going with his two sisters to their aunt’s house so that their older cousin could babysit. This was to allow his mom and his cousins’ mother to “go out”. Such a young boy (who was called “munchie” by these older children due to his diminutive stature) had no concept of what was done when grown-ups “went out”, but since grown-ups didn’t play in the mud, run around in alleyways, and cause general mischief with him, he condescended to allow them their time to amuse themselves in other ways.
So it was that Munchie went to e babysat, even though he was not a baby. His diminutive self and his two sisters were to be supervised by their older cousin and her two younger sisters. I will ignore the ignominious injustice of such an impressionable and impish young boy being given over into the custody of five girls with not a single other boy! Munchie was used to being in the sole company of women. It is just what he knew his world to be. He also didn’t mind because he loved all of these females and they all doted on him. He also didn’t mind too much that an older person was around because, even when he was left to entertain himself, he had so many questions that it was nice to have someone to ask. They must have liked his questionably curious nature because they were always around to explain the why’s and how’s of things to him. I’m sure you understand. Things like why a toilet isn’t like a small bathtub for his sister’s dolls. Or why you shouldn’t melt plastic army men on the lamps light bulb. Things everyone needs to know.
At this time Munchie’s younger sister was only 1 or 2 and his big sister, who he called “Sissie”, was about 6. He had two female cousins who were 8 and 10, and their older sister was around 14. She was in charge. Still glossing over the gloriously and grossly imbalance of hormones Munchie was subjected to, his overseer was over eager to answer all of his questions. She must have been because she wouldn’t let him out of her sight. It was acceptable, though, because all Munchie was doing at the moment was watching Ninja Turtles. He had to practice some of Leonardo’s moves because Leo was the leader and the coolest. He wore blue, he used swords… He was awesome! Munchie was awesome, too. Until he broke a glass with the rod from the towel rack that he was using for a sword. It was good his captor was there when he had to ask for a broom to clean up the glass. And to help him put the rod back on its bracket so he could hang the towel back up. Sometimes a supervisor can be helpful.
The steepest learning curve in a person’s life is at the very beginning. From that chubby meat sack that slobbers, leaks, and flails about while incoherently demanding attention, from that infant to the year old Munchie you are now learning about is an infinite chasm bridged. Or I guess I could just say that he lived an entire lifetime by, even though it was mostly subconscious. It’s that latter realization that is highly pertinent to this story. A child must learn much more than any adult ever will, but it is done without conscious control. They absorb everything.
This night was not so much one in which Munchie was absorbing, love one which I wish to show what came out when this particular sponge was squeezed. Not so much analytically as revelatory. Perhaps what is revealed through this lens will illuminate the exposures which formed the negatives in this child’s life. Such a tragic photograph.
To bring this wandering child of a story back to the journey at hand, Munchie has ceased his mischief and is watching Alf. This was another of his favorite shows. Especially when Alf almost gets away with eating the cat. Munchie can relate. No! Not with eating the cat. With almost getting away with stuff! Munchie wasn’t an alien, just alienated.
In this moment of calm respite, as Munchie sat peacefully beneath the watchful eye of his baby sitter, Sissie and his two other cousins decided to take advantage of the distraction of the current foreman (forewoman?) to get a little rowdy themselves. What girls did when Munchie wasn’t around was within a very small realm, more of a principality, of things he was not curious about. Once dolls and make-up come out it was a matter of principle that he retreat. Actually, he usually fled before he was captured and the make-up was used against him! Not that it ever happened! Except that one time, but it was just for a disguise.
There was no make-up this time, just 3 young girls aged 6, 8, and 10, a bed, and w whole lot of jumping around. This was all taking place in the mid 80’s, for a proper perspective when I saw that World Wrestling Federation was still real. Hulk Hogan before the racist comments and sex tapes: Randy Savage before Slim Jims: And no admission of scripts or fake moves. Girls watched it for Brett “The Hitman” Heart and Shawn Michaels, but everyone had a favorite. Such was the engagement at hand as these three girls practiced their wrestling moves on each other in the bedroom. Munchie’s sister, Sissie, must have chosen one of the up and coming wrestlers because she was pinned to the mat and was taking a major beating. It was ass submission match, so she held out as long as possible.
I can’t tell you who won bemuse the match was stopped due to technical issues. The announcers had never announced the beginning of the match, so Munchie did not know it was an honest bout. It was stopped by the only official present, the babysitter, because something was wrong with Munchie. He had regressed to one of those incoherent, leaky, meat-sacks.
Everyone knows what temper tantrum looks like from a 4 year old boy. At least a stereotypical image if one has not been actually witnessed. I wonder how many of you have seen a 100% real and pure panic in a 4 year old boy. It is contagious and it is not mistaken.
Munchie had gotten up to see what all of the noise in the bedroom was. At that moment, the baby sitter was taking care of a leak from the meat-sack that was his baby sister, so he was able to escape. When he looked into the room, and saw his big sister being pinned, pummeled, and submitted on the bed he did the only thing a diminutive 4 year old could in such circumstances: He started screaming. He turned as red as boiling water will make a lobster. He cried to hard that he turned into leaky, blubbering baby himself. He could do nothing coherent other than reach out with both arms, clasping and unclasping his fingers, and scream as loud as he could. I can still remember the odd feeling of everything spinning but not losing my balance of focus, while my whole body quivered and trembled worse than any fever chills I have ever had.
Everything stopped. My younger sister was bawling now, too, and all 3 of my cousins were trying to calm me down. They had no idea what was wrong. But, I did.
I may have only been 4 years old but I know what it meant when a girl was hold down and beaten by other people. I knew, even then, what that felt like and what could happen. I knew blood and bruises. I knew some kids just “went away” sometimes when things like this happened.
I didn’t so much have a steep learning curve as my lessons took a left turn somewhere in the neighborhood of poverty, violence, and any kind of abuse you can think of. When Munchie stopped trembling and the wracking sobs faded into a weaker weeping, all he kept saying was, “I want my Sissie”. In the arms of his older sister, Shannon, he finally stopped crying. He calmed and became a reasonable human being again, and he listened as his Sissie Shannon told him they had just been playing. He didn’t care. Whether it had been play or not, Munchie had his sister and she was safe.
As I got older, this panic became a memory. I grew insensate to those emotions of empathetic pain, seeing them more as a pathetic weakness as opposed to an apathetic strength. So many left turns, dead ends, and deserted roads took me far from that innocent child.
Even though this child’s innocence makes it clear that such an empathetic response is possible, it’s definitely in peril. To recall that moment of empathetic panic and that pure expression of arms out with fingers grasping: This lets me know I am capable of great love.
This shows the powerful love I have for my sister. Shannon died from a drug overdose 15 years ago, and it was possibly an intentional act. My love for her still helps me move forward. Maybe some day she will give me strength to tell you how her love for her baby brother killed her. Happy Birthday, Shannon.