My Brother, The Escape Artist.

As early as I could remember, this little deviant just couldn't be held down. I realize that and I laugh at how I try to get him to sit still and how futile it is. He is only 9, so my memory shouldn't be failing me over his short life span right now. Let's start at the beginning.


Children like to be picked up. In fact, they cry until they're picked up. Children also like to move. They have way too much energy. What the hell. Before children can crawl, they roll. Or flip over. Whatever you want to describe it as. And that's what this one did. He used to only be able to roll one direction. That made watching him very easy. All I had to do was put him in the middle of the bed with a pillow on the side he couldn't roll to, and with me on the side he was locomotive to. If he came over to me, I just nudged him back onto his spot in the middle, leaving him drooling and giggling on my parent's bed while I watched Dragon Ball Z. Then he learned how to roll both directions, and I had to start paying attention.

That sucked. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. Next stage was crawling. Nothing to fantastic there. Just had to watch where we were walking.
"Where's the baby?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"I don't know where he is. Whistle."
"He's not a dog."

Anyway, that mode wasn't so bad. If we got annoyed, we put him in his bouncing bouncer thing. It was a wierd contraption, probably similar to early NASA technology. He sat in the middle, and he could spin his chair and play with any of the toys that were around him. It wobbled also. It came to a point where we would say, "Spin Spin Spin!!!" and he's spin, spin and spin himself stupid, giggling and laughing the entire time, drooling on his clothes and the surface. The spinning got bad though. It became really violently fast and his wobbler would wobble over.

He didn't get brain damaged, honest.

The Spin stage was fun. Until he got tired of spinning and started to learn how to escape. I hated when he would escape. Nothing's worse than putting that damn kid somewhere, going a few feet away to do your own thing, and he's pulling a Whodini right behind you. That problem was prevalent in every form of restraint we tried to inflict upon this child.

His high chair. That was a simple device, latched only on the sides, and signified by a command of "Up," wherein the child would raise their arms and you would snap them in. Food would be administered, you'd say "Up" again and they would be released. There was even a seatbelt sort of dongle attachment in the event that there was an earthquake. Or a tidal wave. Or the Aliens came back and were razing the planet, in search of their Bouncy Bouncy Wobbler Machine. I don't know why High Chairs had seatbelts. I just know that it was utilized for punishment by entrapment. But it was an easy ruse to avoid for Whodini. That type of bondage didn't last long.

Whodini had short legs. And it is perhaps due to this next form of prison where he gets his ungodly lower body escaping strength from. I believe it all stems from right here. This instance in his life. I forget what part of the time line of his life this occured, But I do remember he had a collapsible playpen. Collapsible in the manner that it could be folder up and stowed away in the corner when not in use, and wrapped in the panel that lined it's bottom. It was a clever device. Usually used for naps, or play time in the living room when mom wanted to watch the View or some shit. He would be placed in here and left alone as punishment, privy only to his whines as activities commenced elsewhere in the house. "The crying," we told ourselves, "just means that he's safely in there."

Soft edges. Soft bottom panel. Mesh kinda window/screen. Harmless. Hell, throw some pillows in there and a blanket and it's nap time in Casa Blanca. No. Not for Whodini. Whodini doesn't do naps. Rather, he stopped tolerating naps. When he found out there were alternatives, alternatives to blissful sleep, he seized opportunities. Why sleep when there are things going on that sound interesting. What? Mush? Fuck that. Carrots? Fuck carrots. You guys are eating Lasagna. Give me Lasagna.

No, I don't want the fucking peas, I want the fucking Lasagna. That's it. Fuck this. I'm crying.

So he cried until we gave him the Lasagna. Worked every time. Until I decided that payback was indeed a bitch named Lemons, and the sweetest (tartest?) victory was mine. I simply acted like I was eating a slice of lemon quite joyously while he was in his high chair, of course he was put in there there by the "Up" command, for there was no other way.

He eyed me enviously. Surely I shouldn't be the one to have all the fun, right? Fuck that, my brother is eating that thing and having a god damned good time. I want some.

So he would hold his arms out and do the baby grunt signifying he wanted in on the action.

I'd look at him. Oh? This? You want this? No, you can't have it.

Not the baby whine.

Hey hey, ok man, maybe just a taste.

So I'd let him nibble on the Lemon.

Now. Lemon has a sharp taste. A Sharp taste for Taste buds worn down from years of coffee and hot food and terribly whiskey. Imagine the sensory overload for a child, who has only experienced lukewarm milk and mushy carrots.

The look on his face was priceless. But he was confused. Wait a minute. He was enjoying himself. Maybe I ate it wrong. He backed away from the Lemon, unsure, but then when his trusting older brother held it there, letting him know he could still have more, maybe there was a chance that this taste would be so-

Ok no, that one was just like the last one. Fuck you, Ren, I don't like Lemons. I'm just going to cry.

Aww shit, he's crying. Well I'll just leave him in his high chair. I go to turn on Dragon Ball Z and Whodini crawls up moments later. Fuck this. I'm not moving for half an hour.

So back to the playpen. And his ungodly strength derived from it. Some how he got those little sausage links he calls feet to the top of the play pen. I don't know how he managed that when he has the upper body strength of, well, a 1 year old boy and he barely comes up to my waist if I stand him up and stretch his arms. But somehow, Whodini found a way out of the playpen, and the house was in panic again. God. Damn. It.

So the High Chair failed. The Play Pen failed. Bouncy Spinny, Bed Pillow Lay Down. All failed. Well maybe he's big enough to enjoy his room. There are no hard edges. No, the nice people in the GRACE section of Toys R Us gave us everything with round edges and reprocessed soft plastic. So we'll just use one of those cheap ass gates you buy to keep dogs out/in the basement.

I'm not even going to elaborate how Whodini was able to mastermind himself over those. That's right. He MASTERMINDED over them. No other excuse. I'd try to step over it, and granted, I figured I was pretty tall, but I always hit it with my trailing foot or something. Whodini was a silent fucking ninja over them.

Everything we throw at him is accepted, met and thrown back. And we never see how he does it. He's content enough with us in the room that there is no need to escape. We leave, then apparently there is some action going on somewhere that isn't the current room, so he'll need to find out what the hell it is.

The last line of defense that I can remember ever being effective was the Car Seat. I mean that with no ill intent, but sometimes the boy just had to be dragged into his room and strapped into a spare car seat. A Car seat with a buckle so unwieldy, you had to be a contestant on World's Strongest Man to be able to effectively press down on it and unlatch it.

The Epic battles that led to the Car Seat became increasingly and increasingly tougher as the damn kid got stronger. He wasn't working out, no he was growing. Releasing all that energy in spurts of defying. I remember my personal battles with him. He'd act up, so I'd have to drag/carry/move him into his room, kicking and screaming and scratching and hollering and grabbing door panels and corners and stationary objects as he passed so that I couldn't get him in the Car Seat.

That's how effective the Car Seat was: It scared Whodini. It's prison was absolute. Once that glorious "snap" was heard, I knew the task was complete, and I was victorious. Victorious over a two year old child that escapes from everything. The best victory on the planet. We'd battle, I'd get him to the seat, then commenced a timing session of him moving his arms so that the harness didn't go over his head. once it was over his head, it wasn't coming off, so I had to snap him in. He had fast, tiny hands, and strong kicks to my mid section. But I was much taller than him, as is the will of older brothers, and I had long arms, also by the will of older brothers, so I had advantages. Simply standing up nullified all my weaknesses, but it essentially moved the center of my gravity, making my grip on the harness weaker. So for the sake of the battle, I had more vitality than him, so I was able to tolerate his blows for the quicker realization of victory.

SNAP

YES! I would jump back, do a dance, and breathe a sigh of relief! The child was in! All that was left was to just walk away, phew. Once in the Car seat, he had no choice but to stop yelling and/or go to sleep.

The Car Seat signified Nap Time. Car Seat and Nap Time were one and the same though. Oh, you're cranky? Nap time. Oh, you're being bad? Car Seat. One and the same, Yin and Yang. Silence pursued the house for some time only known as The Calm. Perhaps the one flaw in the Car Seat was it's absolute effectiveness and it's application on Whodini. Because Whodini was a smart child, and Car Seat was only a stationary object made by adults. Adults can not fathom the way a child's mind works. Adults can not fathom that something meant to save someone, when used in an application of constitution, becomes a mere obstacle to the greater goal of freedom.

I'm pretty sure that in hindsight, Whodini accepted his punishments reluctantly, and the time spent devising escape tired him. Hence, the naps. For as I stated, Car Seat was absolute. Absolute Bullshit.

I don't remember when it happened. But I remember it vividly. Yes. Whodini was sentenced to another nap time. But only this time, he'd done his home work. Indeed. Whodini went through the motions of the battle. Indeed he went through the trouble of being entrapped. Went through the wrestling, and lost, as is the will of the Older Brothers. I danced. And I walked away. 5 minutes later, he was back in the living room.

Odd.

Maybe he was quiet so mom let him out?

Whatever.

Next day. Punishment. Fight. Wrestling. SNAP. Dance.

He pretty much walked in right behind me.

Crap. What the hell happened here?

What happened was that Whodini figured the system out. Months of punishment and attempts at escaping made his thumbs strong. The rest is history.

History has proven that my brother is too smart for his own good, but, as is the Will of THe Older Brothers, I will always be ahead.

But the little fucker is TALL for 10 years old. Christ. He better not be bigger than me. I'm thinking of breaking his legs when he's 16.

In Other News

Everyone is quoting Lupe. I was definitely telling ya'll he was hot like LAST year but no one was listening.

I TOLD YA'LL LUPE FIASCO WAS THE DAMN TRUTH.

Oh well. Better late than never.

The Ocean

Darkness. All around him. Eternal night. Were his eyes open or closed? No, they were closed before. Now that he had opened them to get his answer, the darkness was even more pressing. He could feel the weight of it pressing against the back of his skull, causing his ears to ring. He tried to move, but he was floating. An endless Ocean of darkness. His mind was cloudy. Rather, it was firing off rapidly, but the lucid atmosphere that enveloped him caused sluggish reactions in his thinking. He simply felt as if he should just go back to sleep, forever. His eyelids became heavy..

A droplet hit the surface of the water far off into the distance, waking him up. He heard it as if it were right next to him. Though it is dark, he turned his head to focus on the direction it is coming from. Now he can hear more subtle sounds. The ebbing and crashing of rolling waves drowned out the sound of the droplets in the distance. The realized that although he could hear the world around him, his own personal space was still, as if he were in some sort of egg He laid still. And waited. Slowly, he began to move his arms past the surface of the water. It is a grueling task, as he felt like he was 10 times heavier than he should have been.

After some time, his arm breeched the surface. He placed his palm down and found that although he was submerged, once he reached the top of the water, it became a solid surface. He did the same with his other hand, and found solid foundation under his palm. He turned himself over, resting his forearms on the surface of the dark Ocean.

The work was tiring, but his resolve remained unwavering. He was more than halfway done now, finally beginning to move his legs from underneath. After what seemed like a millennium, he was standing on the surface, breathing hard, his lucid egg shell now successfully broken, and him, pleased with his work. Now that he was relinquished from the ignorance of the void, his senses finally came back to him. He noticed the once foreign ebb of the Ocean. He heard the waves crashing off into the distance. He can discern the faint caw of the Seagulls. It was nighttime.

Land. Seagulls meant land, he said to himself. But how did he know that? No matter.. He tried to pinpoint which direction the sound was coming from. He turned to walk in that direction, but he stumbled. Instinctively, he put his arms out, attempting to break his fall. The water cushioned him, and his hands merely sunk into the void as if they were ready to peacefully assist him. Though his hands were submerged, he was still on the surface. It was as if tis Ocean was not water, but merely some sort of substance that could be manipulated to one's will. With some effort, he finally stood again.

It was as if his muscles had not been used in forever, but with the reward of land nearby, he painstakingly began to travel in the direction he concluded it had to reside. He heard the drops again. He stopped moving and slowly pinpointed the location, focusing directly on the direction of the source of the sound.

Gradually, as if a splash of paint was dropped on a parchment of canvas, the world's color began to return gradually. The sky's brightness flushed in and the darkness retreated back to it's void. Life breathed itself back into his limbs, and his strength returned. He began to remember things. He remembered why he was trapped in the darkness. Just as his memories returned, so did his awareness of himself and his abilities.

He saw the island, the source of the light, the droplets falling and echoing loudly like the heart of a grand clock that ran the world. Everything around him has an aura of energy running through it that he can see. Sources of power that control the entire world. He looked down and saw that he too was full of this energy, but it was a different, softer color. He felt that his energy was the energy of change and manipulation. Focusing on his own energy, he felt a great warmth flow through his body, eager to be used to institute some sort of miracle.

He let the inhibitions go to do what they felt was most comfortable, and his body was enveloped in a bright white aura, pulsing and creating ripples where he stood. With a crack that split the water directly next to him, the energy dissipated, and he stood in the epicenter of the explosion, a shining beacon of Creation. He was no longer naked. His body was draped in flowing white robes with gold trimming, his golden plated boots felt sturdy but also graceful. He had the power to adhere to this world and remake it in his image, but he knew he had something to do.

He lifted himself into the air, and with and crashing boom, he took off like a rocket heading towards the island, a mission on his mind as his white robes flowed in the reverberating air.

At the center of the island, a dark figure stood, eying the heart of a Volcano, a menacing object in his left palm. He calmly lifted his head up and smirked, finally excited about today's events. His twin was awake, finally, he thought. His tilted his head back and released a laugh that moved the entire island in it's malice.

Angel

If anyone was wondering why I think so highly of myself, it's because of my mother. She is an Angel. Being that I am her first born, by default, I can not be anything less than 50% Divine, and that makes me at least 50 times as Heavenly bound as the most of you.

You know.

Because.

Well.

You're like 0%. So I guess even if I was 1%, I'd still be 50 times more divine. In fact, I can divide you by Zero. Oh shiiii-

I was talking to my mother about some things that happened. I love my mother immensely. This woman has stood by me and was willing to take my side no matter what the infraction, circumstances or possible outcome.

I was going through some things, and I honestly felt like a little bitch for whining to her on the phone about it. She told me that being upset over people you care about it not being a bitch: It's being a human being. There is no use in bottling up what you feel, because those emotions can hurt you from the inside, and make you a bitter, cynical and sarcastic human being.

Whoa, wait a second there, mom: I'm not sarcastic. Hardly.

Well I had to admit that she was correct. But she's also off her rocker, talking about being a Daimyo since she is the mother of a Samurai or something like that. All I told her is that it gave her immense honor. I was going to explain that she wouldn't be privy to any of my accomplishments unless I died gloriously in battle, but she cut me off while I was explaining serf-hood and gave me a hug like I was 8 years old again.

I love my mother.

Because I Kan (Digg It)

So, I don't know who's going to see this. This will show up on Facebook later, but I don't even know who I feel like tagging. Hell, I don't really care, but writing always made me feel better, and I've never had any problems wearing my heart on my sleeve before, because for the most part, I generally don't care anymore.

Some things happened last week. I learned that there is a general consensus of a certain manner. I've always at least tried to be a decent human being, but some people want you to bend over backwards. That's unreasonable. I used to be a people pleaser: So intent on making sure that other people were comfortable with the Me of a certain manner, that I wasn't the Me that I really wanted to portray.

The Me that exists in actuality is tired. And no one wants to be around someone who isn't really enthusiastic about the right things. The Me that exists in actuality is slightly self centered and slightly selfish. The me that exists in actuality generally doesn't care about the majority of people, has a few good friends to confide in, and doesn't need anything outside of that.

I notice that I can be perfectly fine for an extended period of time in solitude, something that would drive most people crazy. To detract a little bit, I noticed that my brother's personality is completely opposite to mine, because he hates sitting or standing still for short durations. It's taken me a while, but I understand that everyone is different.

Hence, I try not to be too abrasive, because I feel that my thoughts are largely abstract, and if I were to say the things that were really on my mind, then there goes the level of comfort. But at the end of the day, I had to wonder, is it really worth it? The plan of action I had previously taken did not seem to work. I've been gradually falling into a new mode, and it's what I want myself to be. And I like it. I've heard from people close to me that they like it, and it seems I'm more comfortable being myself than usual.

Some people say that I'm uptight. I'm actually so laid back that it's dangerously close to pathological procrastination, because I know I can get away with it.

I'm not going to go out of my way to impress people, because most people don't appreciate what you try to do for them, and most people don't understand what you went through for that to occur. I'm going to do my job and address any assignments given to me, and if you're deserving of my extra attention and effort, then consider yourself to be fortunate, because over the course of some time, I've been emotionally drained away from doing such things as that anymore.

So I'm just going to do me. Because I Can. Digg it?