Kirk and Me

    A  little background on my family.  It was just the three of us; Bob is the oldest, Kirk was the middle child and I am the baby and the only girl.  There is an age difference of 9 years between me and Bob.  Kirk was 3 years older than me.  As kids we fought like all siblings do, but we were also very protective of each other.  We watched out for each other, and I especially watched out for Kirk.  We grew up in a home with a father, my biological father, who was appropriately identified years later by a therapist I was seeing, as a terrorist.  He was big and loud and mean and degrading.  Just not a very nice person.  He chose Kirk as his primary target and from a very early age I would physically put myself between him and Kirk so he could not hit him.

     Fred, as I refer to my biological father, was the kind of person with a chip on his shoulder and was always a “poor me” kind of guy.   He was always telling Kirk that he was a loser, he would never amount to anything.  When Kirk first took up the bass guitar, Fred used to say it was just what the world needed, another guitar player.  I don’t think I ever heard him say something nice to Kirk. Report card day in our house always meant Kirk was going to get the shit kicked out of him.  Fred liked to use his belt on his bare bottom, just a big bully.   I would crawl in a corner and cry because there was nothing I could do to stop it.

     Kirk once told me that his first memory was being 3 years old and wetting the bed.  (This would be about the time my mom first married Fred.)  He said that Fred beat him (apparently 3 year olds aren't supposed to wet the bed) .  And, he said when Fred was done, my mom took a turn too.  I could not believe my ears!  It made understand why I spent my life trying to make it better, to let him know he was loved and a valuable person.  He was the apple of my eye and I totally adored him in that way that only a little sister can.  But I failed in taking care of him and now he's dead.  I should have been able to do more for him.  It was MY father's fault he was such an emotional mess.  In the end, I can't help feeling I was just another person who let him down.

P.S.  Before you tell me that I am not responsible for Kirk's death, please know that in my head I know this to be true.  It is emotionally that I feel I let him down. That I could not help him in his struggle not to feel defective, to be able to see the person I saw when I looked at him.