It isn't fortitude, it's stubbornness

    Hatred is a strong motivator. Perhaps, even the strongest. Like all other adolescents, I was stubborn. One to hold on to what I believe in, no matter what. I did things the way that I preferred them to be done because it was what I knew; what I was most accustomed to. One might say that I had too much freedom to garner such an attitude, or that my parents didn’t raise me very well if I had such a mentality. In some ways, they’re both true. See; I grew up without a father for a majority of my life so far. The only reason why that I know of was for his company. We were a burden, and that burden prevented him from getting his company off the ground. After all, he was raising two children at the time; my brother, who was born before my father met my mother, and me. At the time, it was the only one that I could live with. It was the idea that my grandmother and mother had taught me, even if I knew there had to be something more to it than that.

    That was the start of what I consider to be a mistake. To listen to one side and ignore the other. To hold an irrational grudge based off how the “cover of the book” looked. But such hate couldn’t be any more fueled than the day where I learned that I had a younger step brother. So I thought; “How? I mean, how could it be that he couldn’t have told me directly, rather than for me to learn about it through my mother?” The more I thought about it, the more negativity I invited to poison my perception of my father. He left but stayed in touch every so often. He knew where I lived and how I was doing. His company had been growing exponentially in success. He even created another child. Yet he was unable to even financially compensate for leaving us; the least that he could do for all the damage he caused. Because of that, my mother had to sacrifice some time with her children for a promotion, for a raise; for an extra climb up the corporate ladder in order to make us--my brother, my grandparents, and myself--”happy”. So not only did I miss out on having a father-figure, I lost a bit of what it’s like to have a mother that’s always present.

    And for all that time that I had to amass all that anger, I decided to meet this child. He was my step-brother after all. He may not understand anything that I was going to tell him, but I know that any child could understand emotion. Rage. But when I met him, all of that infuriating emotion that I had for my dad’s side of the family simply ceased to exist in that moment. It was just a sudden realization of how my anger would simply be a displeasure for him, and would have damaged the relationship that he and his father had so far. I realized that this grudge that I’ve held for so long; it was stupid. So irritation wasn’t an emotion I wanted to have on my face as this young step-brother of mine met me for the first time. I simply interacted with him, like an older brother. All that I showed him was the enjoyable side of me. No spite, no malicious remarks; just sibling to sibling interaction.

    In retrospect, I knew that I still had to talk to my father about everything that’s happened and why he wasn’t involved. Though the reasons he had weren’t entirely justifiable, it was understandable. It made me realize that although all that hate can easily cloud one’s judgement, both sides have to be looked at and given a fair chance before any real conclusion can be drawn. Yes; I still had some anger for him, but that child and his current state of obliviousness made me despise the use of hatred to motivate myself. Not only would it have made it harder to move forward, it simply wouldn’t have enabled me to transition out of my adolescent mindset. The kid should know, eventually. When he has matured, I know that both me and my father will talk to him about why I don’t live with him, yet I’m his brother, and all of the other complications that a child of his age wouldn’t be able to comprehend. For now though, I have to show to him, as an older brother that he looks up to, that clinging on to one’s ideals and refusing to change in face of contradicting evidence isn’t fortitude; it’s stubbornness.