One recent memory I love to recall about my kid brother was the day I came home after an exhausting day at work to find him in bed hugging his guitar in a pose that had me wondering how he got himself so contorted with his wooden friend. The pose perfectly imitated a foetus as his wooden companion reared its long head and stringed body from the little passage between his clinched legs and arms. John Legend’s Cross the Line played in the background. A closer look brought the image of the flying witch and her broom; the bulk of the guitar bore the pressure from his butt. Suspecting a possible injury, I failed in my attempt to save the two friends from themselves. Kid brother, let’s call him Sean from now, despite been lost in sleepland, resisted all my redemptive moves. It was the fight he gave that made the scene weird. He would have exerted the same amount of energy if he were conscious. He held tight to the guitar’s neck and mumbled some words. Not giving up, I muted John Legend and lo, instantly, Sean sprung up. His heavy sleep bags disproved my suspicion of a mischief. Muting John wasn’t supposed to be part of the tactic to separate the sleeping friends but hell, it took only John to shut up for him to return from sleepland. Odd. I could have blamed my exhausted self for my failing but Sean already had a reputation for sleeping and clinging with instruments. Drum sticks and the guitar are regular sleeping partners.
Such is Sean and his numerous quirks, some of which are outright annoying and require extra measure of tolerance to cope with them. I once informed him that his “transfer” into my house was just a plot by the parent to see less of his troubles. He objected, claiming it can’t be true since the same parents, especially mum (He calls her “Fine Girl”), calls him every-now-and-then to tell him how much she has missed him - “Those people really miss me you know”.
“Yes, your troubles!”
What sort of last child stresses parents more than other siblings did in combination?
One evening, before the transfer, my dad called to inform me to warn Sean. Such calls are frequent. The old man had got home and was shocked to find a gadget he has just bought dismembered. The usual suspect had taken some parts away for whatever experiment - musical or scientific. He got home later and returned the gadget to normal.
I have been a victim of several experiment of this young chaotic mind.
He had used my laptop the evening before a major presentation at work. I had saved some documents in it which I forgot to transfer to my office PC. On the day of presentation, few hours before, I turned on Bunmi (My laptop pet name). Bunmi’s screen beams with what looks like a mathematic gibberish. 20 minutes into it, Bunmi won’t go back to normal. The office IT guy couldn’t fix it. “This one is beyond me,” he said. Whooom! I hit the road. Blood temperature already hitting Hell-Degrees-Celsius. I asked him what he did to Bunmi. He took her from me and embarked on a surgery while I stood beside him like a fleshy mix of fury and frustration. And then, laptop went back to normal.
It’s a common thing for everyone to warn him to stay off their stuff. He doesn’t spoil them but he sure does more than what the manufacturers intend them for.
It’s only unfair that combined with his untamable gift of curiosity, Sean is as funny as funny can be. Few days before his big age, my other brother, his elder, had joked that Sean is about to clock an age where he will be prison-bound if he impregnates a lady. Sean paused a bit. He threw a curious look at me, and yelled, “So why are you people just telling me that? I should have been told a long time ago when prison wasn't an option if I impregnated a lady!”
Sean. Lover of the dark. Admirer of Norbert Wiener. Lover of soccer. Ronaldinho’s enthusiast. Jazz-addict. Technology enthusiast. iPhone-freak. Buristos-eater. Best Indomie noodles maker. Fitness evangelist. Drummer. Reader. Book spoiler (Our major cause of quarrel). Rules breaker. Mum’s boyfriend. Funny man. Receiver of constant tongue-lashing (from sister). Music whore. And…
… proud member of the skinny jeans generation.
Sean clocks another year. I thought I should make a deserving post.
Happy Birthday Baby Bro.