My Brother and i

10 02 2013

took different gifts forward from our childhoods. In the last year I have been a personal witness to the most glaring difference and it’s become just as painful for us both, even though we chose different paths.

For most of our childhoods we were raised by a man who made the “truth” something held higher in his esteem than any other human trait.  He made our child hoods a living hell in the name of it.

He had his own business’s.  Always opening and closing them.  Running new ones to replace the old.  Rarely did he have less than 3 going at the same time.

We were told on a daily basis to lie to people.  Mostly  little things like He wasn’t around to take their calls, but there were things that we we’re witness’s to everyday that were constant reminders of the fact that he was less than honest with his day-to-day dealings with people.

My brother being the boy was more pulled into his business dealings then I, but even I knew that he  rigged things so part of his income never went on the books to avoid paying as much in business costs and taxes.

When he was given a credit card to buy supplies for jobs, he would also buy stuff for personal jobs he was doing around the house and he often kept tools left around job sites.  When we were old enough to handle the money we were expected to handle it in the same way.

In the privacy of his home though he demanded absolute honesty.  Nothing was to be hidden.  The truth would be routed out by any means necessary.  His favored way was a beating.  He would take both my brother and I in a room and start beating us till we broke.  If we had lied then we got the worst beating of all, “the liars whipping”.

This was a 200 lbs man who wielded a hammer all day long, wielding a belt most often but when that didn’t seem like enough to him what ever else he could find to up the pain, switches, planks of one by and even a horse whip for as long as he felt it necessary.

When it was me and it was going on, my mind could think of nothing but the excruciating pain but when it was my Brother in there, I would fervently be praying for what seemed like hours till it would come to an end.  Either way it was torture to endure it.

That gift I was telling you about.  Well my Brother learned a lesson about how to tell them.  Look we all lie.  Who hasn’t said “tell them I’m not home”?  My brother learned when you get caught in a lie you go down with it, take it to the grave and never give it up.   Watching it play out in his life is almost as painful as sitting there on that couch witnessing what caused it.

My gift.  I learned to take a grain of truth and wield it with laser-sharp precision.   Believe me, it too is damaging and I am no less horrified of the results.

 

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