My Protector

As I walked into the room I felt the strong vibrations in the air as the screaming reached it’s peak. As I looked deep into his eyes I wondered just what he had done to deserve this. Soon I watched my brother, my lone protector, walk out; he grabbed his bike and rode faster than I’d ever seen. Of course at that point I didn’t know he was my protector, he was only an annoying older brother, and I was just an annoying little sister.1

I wasn’t sure I’d ever see him again, and I wasn’t sure I cared. As our father raced down the stairs, drunk with keys in hand, I poured a glass of water and went to bed. Ten minutes later I was sound asleep under my Snow White canopy, dreaming of ponies and fairies and all the things eight-year-olds were supposed to dream about. Little did I know my life would soon be changed forever.2

As the clock beat eleven, the pounding and thumping pulsating through the house woke my tired frame. I peered out from the covers and through the doorway, though it lacked the former; taken for a heinous crime which I had committed the week before, what it was, I could not tell you now.3

The construction of my childhood house made it so I had a perfect view into my brother’s room, something I had once taken for granted. I listened to my mother scream something in a high-pitched tone and I was afraid the neighbor’s dog would wake. Then, in what seemed to be slow motion, an event which would haunt me for the rest of my life took place; my mother raised her hand to my protector and hit him across the face. Hard. I watched him fall to the floor and I now know that was the moment my life changed. He quickly regained his stature and began yelling:4

“IF YOU EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN I WILL CALL CPS AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS HOUSE!”5

He went on like that for, well probably a half an hour. Then our father walked down the hall in a drunken stupor and stated, in a very loud voice, my brother had no right to talk to his mother like that. I figured in my eight-year-old type of reasoning that a fight would soon ensue and prepared myself for the worst. But our parents just walked into the bedroom and shut the door; my brother did the like.6

I didn’t quite realize what all this meant at the time. But I soon figured out my brother’s threat had worked, they never touched him again; and I was never punished while he was around. I didn’t figure it out at first, I just went on with my life, trying to be good enough for my parents in a sad attempt to gain their pride. It was later when I realized my brother to be my protector, the only thing standing between me and our parents.7

Of course he doesn’t know all this. Chances are he doesn’t even remember the night that changed my life forever, but he will always be my protector, the one person who will save me in the end.8

It’s amazing how much of an impact a simple act can make on a small child. Through all my years, I still shake and tears stream down my face when that flashback threatens my carefully constructed sanity. But even as I watch in slow motion, I also watch him stand up. He had the courage to be courageous at twelve, while I still can’t bring myself to do it.9

I will always remember the night I lost all respect for my parents and gained infinite awe for my Lone Protector.10