Autobiography 1: My hero, my brother, Jon

In my family history class we are to write at least 5 autobiographical stories of 500 words and when I was trying to limit myself to 5 significant instances in my life, I can't help but think of the time with my brother Jon. I suppose I could talk about the numerous moves from state to state, the divorce, the flee, the heartbreaks, or any number of things, however, those things that have effected me most are the small instances where life really reveals itself.

As 7th child in a family of nine, I was often left to myself and in order to get attention I really had to try to either do things right or do things wrong. One week during our family home evening, I remember being very offended because my parents were honoring those who had done their chores that week and although I had laboriously fulfilled ever task given me, I was not mentioned. Expecting someone to notice my disappointment, I stormed out of the room in a huff and slinked into the kitchen.

In my 6 year old brain, I assumed that everyone around me could feel the injustice and would come running to me to console me. I was prepared to deny them all and I sat with arms crossed under the kitchen table waiting for them to beg my forgiveness. As time passed, I realized that once again I had gone unnoticed and that no one was coming for me. Reality that no one had probably even noticed that I had left or that I was upset began to seep in on me and I began to cry. I sunk my head and began to sob quietly to myself, becoming so absorbed in my feelings of depression and disappointment that I was oblivious to my brother Jon who had snuck into the kitchen carrying a CD player.

Jon is two years my senior and had always been my idol. He could do things that only boys can do and every time we wrestled he seems to out maneuver me and win. Jon could climb trees and had friends everywhere, but always seemed to consider me as more of a pest than a sister. So as he plugged in the CD player and began playing church music it was a bit of a shock. Not enough of a shock to make me look at him directly, but just enough to cause me to notice him. Next he went to the fridge and pulled out a packet of sliced meat.

If you have never lived in a large family with a small budget, you have never learned to really appreciate food. In our house commodities like fruit, vegetables, and pre-sliced meat were usually devoured within minutes of their arrival from the grocery store and if you had any hope of salvaging an apple you would have to hide it under your pillow and hope no one found your secret stash. So, as you can understand, it was surprising that he had found this jewel and without a word he opened it up, sat it between us, and then just sat there next to me. If he had tried to talk me out of my sadness or tried to surround me with his arms, I probably would have brushed him off and given myself more justification for my feelings. However, this simple act of love, showing that he was there and that he cared, caused my to feel infitestimaly better. Soon my sobs turned into sniffles and my tears stopped flowing.

But the most touching part of it all is that when I was done I looked over at him and he was crying. This act of unselfish love, of knowing exactly what I needed, and somehow being able to take my tears upon himself, that has stuck with me. Whenever I think of Christ as a brother, I think of Jon in that moment. Christ's willingness to sacrifice himself for our happiness and his ability to love us was more real to me in that moment than it ever had been before and will always stay with me.