I’m not quite sure how to answer that, and it really sucks to think I have to answer that. What I do know is I realized something tonite that makes me feel qualified to answer that. In my situation, I have always known I had a sister, but I have never known my sister.

Have I ever made an attempt to connect with her. Not really. We had moments when she was past the age of 18, a moment when I got back from war the first time when she was still in high school, but other than that, not really.

It’s me. It’s fully me. My “so -called” Mom (“so-called” is temporary as she is an actual Mother because she bore me, but “so-called” at the moment because she can’t stand me) said as I was growing up that I needed to have a better relationship with my sister because she was all I would have once she (“so-called Mom”) was gone. Which is true. She also said that she (My “so-called” sister, only so-called because I am trying to define what a sister is) looked up to me. Why did she look up to me, I have know idea, I was an uber pot head working at the local Footlocker…Not really the best role-model.

What else do I know? I know that like I had mentioned in “My Inner Pain” post, I had a bio-Dad that my Mom had left when I was 6 months old and she didn’t remarry until I was in 1st grade. My Step-Dad John was 60, my Mom 30, and when I was 7 my sister was born. Now one thing I do remember is that I was excited to have a sister. I didn’t realize I was going to be getting less toys at Christmas, but I do remember being excited.

I wish I had more memories of my sister…Like the time she pukes on the Oregon/California Border on the coast cause she got car sick. Or the Mocha Milk she had to drink because she was allergic to milk but really she was allergic to birds? Or the time we got back from Santa Cruz and we thought we lost her for an hour but we just left her in the car. Or the time in Santa Cruz when she pooed in the tub and it was like a poo version of Jaws coming at me as I yelled for mom and I creeped on the ledge of the bathtub only to fall right into the poo log floaty…Or the times we shot hoops out back. Or the times we played “lions” (We had numerous Zoobooks around the house) and I was always the white lion and she was the Bengal…Then things changed…That was all before I hit Junior High…After my (Step) Dad died, it all changed….

Why am I bringing all this out, because it bothers me to this day that my “so-called” Mother won’t take responsibility or accountability for the whole “Mark” incident. For me standing up like a good brother and being concerned for my little sister, like my (Step) Dad had told me to do before he died. I told on MArk. I said Mark is smoking weed while me and Michelle are home and he is cutting out pictures of my elementary and junior high yearbooks of girls in my class and putting it in his porn stash. And that was creepy. Her response, first, why was I snooping, I had no real good answer…Then she said that her and bio-Dad had smoked weed and her and (Step) Dad had smoked weed…But that was it. Nothing about the cut out pictures. She got angry with me and told me my outbursts were because she didn’t want her and her new boyfriend to be happy…On the contrary, I just wanted my sister safe and my yearbooks intact. Doesn’t sound like a lot coming from a 13 year old. The pot smell? Well, between her and bio-Dad that was a smell I was more than used to. Just don’t do it with kids around. That was my take on it.

I was shipped away from my “family” though because of this. My lashing out because of “rap” music. The way I dressed, the way I talked. By this time I was in Junior High and High School and my sister, bless her heart, was in early elementary. We are 6-7 years apart, so by that time we didn’t have a lot i common. I had my friends and that was really it. I also held a resentment I think I didn’t realize til tonite. And it makes sense to me.

Even though I was the oldest, I was second fiddle in the sibling chain after my (Step) Dad died. Prolly the reason I threw a bat at her and hit her in the shins on purpose that required her to have stitches. Prolly why I used to tackle her really hard trying to hurt her when we played football in the leaves. Prolly why when I had to babysit her once, me and my best friend took her to these girls house and plopped her in front of Nickalodeon while me and him took these girls into room in the house and well…You know…In a sick and demented way she was a part of my 3 bump chump incident and the Jeremy bloody towel incident…Yes, the good ol days.

Here is what I think. I think my “so-called” Mom has a deep seeded not hatred of me, but something close. A word that hasn’t been invented yet. See, when my (Step) Dad died, the only good man to ever come into her life, and accept her, and her (black) son had died. The best thing ever in her life had left. All she had left were me and my sister. Me, whose father was an abusive druggie that treated her like shit and had nothing to do with me, and Michelle, whose father was the epitome of what a man should be. I have never felt like I was a part of the family. I was always the oukast (meant to spell it that way thank you very much).

I can’t deny that when I was little, my “so-called” Mom had to put up a lot with me,  not me in general, but her raising a “nigger boy” in Southern Oregon wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Even into the 90’s she had to stand up for me to police profiling and what have you. Really ridiculous if you think about it. Sears wouldn’t help her one time casue she had a “black boy” with her…Well we all know how Sear stick is doing now days, see, don’t fuck with my “so-called” Mom, she’ll fuck up your investments.

Did something happen when my (Step) Dad died though. Did she see the greatness of the “seed” my (Step) Dad had left in Michelle and the fuck up in the “seed” Bio-Dad left in me? I can’t count the times she would tell me I was a con artist like my (Bio) Dad, or a thief like my (Bio) Dad, or a liar like my (Bio) Dad…Everything bad I ever did she compared me to him..When my (Step) Dad died I felt that she gave up on me and all her focus went to Michelle…

My “so-called” Mom gave up on me. She wanted nothing to do with me. She had Michelle, the epitome of good, that’s all she needed, and she had Mark, the “fuck” that she hadn’t had in 2 years of taking care of my (Step) Dad. The “fuck” that made it okay to send me packing and not question his integrity as a person and not even believe her 13 year old son, but accept me a year later when (uh-oh), they broke up due to his drug use. But when I came back, it still wasn’t the same. No parent will ever admit they love one kid more than the other, but I know my “so-called” Mom  loves my sister more than me.

No the scary part. Is that the truth? I don’t know? Those are my feelings, and unfortunately, I don’t need truth to know how I felt I have been treated by either side of my family. I have not only anger from my sexual abuse, not with my family, but just in general,  I also have anger with both sides of my family. Will I be able to get it all out. I don’t know. Will my family at some point accept me for me? I don’t know. Will my “so-called” Mom stop spreading lies to me to my sister, to my family? I don’t know.

I spoke to my “so-called” Sister tonite. Part of the reason we no longer speak, which is sad because now she is married and I have no idea what day on, is because she got into the middle of one of my “so-called” Mom and my arguments…Her defense was that if I make my “so-called” Mom cry, then she is going to defend her….Really, what about when she makes me cry? Who’s there to defend me?

I don’t feel that I have a single family member I can trust in. Is that truth? Once again, do feelings necessarily have to be truth? Not really, otherwise Barack Obama would have a 30 point lead on John McCain, but people say they have no feelings on whether it’s because Barack is black. Truth is….because Barack is black he’s only up 10 points. So will my feelings ever change no matter how much I hear “Donnie you’ve always been a part of the family?”

I feel like my feelings are legit. I feel my questions are legit…I feel that until my “so-called” Mom treats me like an adult and doesn’t look at me like her little boy, I will continue to not have a relationship with her…(more to come on that topic) And I feel that until my “so-called” Mom dies, when it’s just me and my “so-called” Sister left, that then, like my “so-called” Mom said back in the day, that it will just be us, maybe then, we can get to know each other, because then my “so-called” Sister won’t have un-truths about me told her, and she won’t have to defend her Mom, her actual Mom, she’ll just have me. And she’ll be able to get to know me. It’s really weird having a sister but not knowing a sister. It really sucks. When I was 7, she’s all I wanted. Now that I’m 29, she’s what I miss most about my youth. The fact I missed her…I made a lot of mistakes…My bad…I worked for so long on the resentment I had for her being the “golden” child and me being the black sheep…We were so close to actually having a relationship…Now, because of my memories, because of my thoughts, because of the truth of my life, I have lost everything.

Slowly I am seeing who is true to their word, that they love me for me, and who is superficial and more concerned about their own self interests. It’s sad really. Truth hurts is an over used expression, but until I started writing this, and telling my story no matter how graphic, no matter how embarrassing, that I would lose those who said they loved me most…

Anyways, the answer to my question, “When is a sister not a sister?”, for me, in my case, when I’ve never been able to feel like I was a part of any family, so I shunned her efforts to be my family. That’s when. I’m sorry Michelle.

“So-Called” Brother,

Donnie D.

*An apology to my counselor who told me my posts had become less and less angry and I told her I would work on that…LOL…I’m a piece of work!