When it comes to the eldest son – (and you may not like this…) He is a caricature of all that is “joyless,” “petty,” and “self-serving” about “us.” There is probably a little of that “older brother” in each one of us…although we do not like to hear that!
Ah, the older son…it is not easy being me! It seemed like all the rules were meant for me….and for me alone.
My younger sibling had things easier. Less rules, less laws, fewer curfews…more freedom, less responsibility…more free time.
It is not easy being “the older son.” You may inherit 2/3’s of everything the old man owns…but you also get stuck with the vast majority of the work. Being the “responsible one” – never seems to end.
“They” say, “whoever they are” — that the first born, the eldest of the children tends to be the reliable, conscientious, structured, cautious, controlling and are in many cases a real achiever…
Of course, not everyone always agrees with or — fits in to these “cookie-cutter mold” categories.
Whereas the “last born”…the baby in the family are often seen as being fun-loving, uncomplicated, manipulative, out-going, attention seeking and a little bit self-centered. It is said to be far “easier,” being the baby in the family. There is less stress, less responsibility and a lot more personal freedom.
First born children (like myself) tend to like having power and exerting it over others…especially a younger sibling.
Let me just say, I am ticked off at the old man. He always gives in to the wants and the desires of my younger brother. It is like anything he wants, he gets. In the meantime, I get all the work.
So, it came as no surprise to me, at all, when the young jerk asked for his share of the property. One third of everything our father owned — “had to go to him.”
Our overall wealth immediately became lessened. Everything that I have worked on and for – was in a single moment of time – reduced. It was reduced for my smart-aleck-greedy-impulsive-brother.
Oh, he strutted his stuff and his newly given wealth…he acted like a big shot…for a couple of weeks.
Meanwhile our destitute father, who divided everything according to the law, now has nothing. He owns nothing. He is “my ward.” He lives under “my roof.” He is now impoverished and totally dependent on me.
It was like he aged, right before my eyes. Like he had given up, or something… He no longer worked side-by-side with me. He seemed depressed and despondent. He was not sleeping, he was not eating…he was losing weight. The change happened so quickly.
It was no surprise to me – when my brother took off in the middle of the night, without even bothering to say good-bye. He was the talk of our village.
You do not just walk away from your roots.
“Fame and fortune,” my foot, he was just doing – what he always did and that was to act totally “irresponsibly.”
That would be my brother, but “brother – no –more” for you see I am done with him. I have washed my hands of him. He is no longer worthy to be called “my brother.” He may be my father’s son, but he is not my brother. I have no brother. I am an for all intents and purposes an only child.
You could hear dad up all night long… walking, pacing, talking to himself…lost.
Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and months dragged on forever. My father became different. In the meantime, I worked and worked, thank god for my hired servants who helped out and pulled their own weight.
It was “a new normal.”
Then one night, upon my return from the fields, I heard music and merry-making. I was told “my father’s other son” had returned. Just what I needed to hear.
My father had killed the fatted calf, put a robe and a ring on his son, shoes on his feet and had prepared a feast. All those things belong to me! I was not asked. I was not involved. Decisions were being made without my knowledge and now I am expected to just accept them.
How do I now say, he is not welcome here, he is not welcome in my house. He is not welcome under my roof. I will be the one under village scrutiny. I will be the one who is shunned. I will be forever seen as being “the disrespectful son.”
It is not fair I tell you. Once more, he becomes the center of attention, the center of my father’s world. He gets a party, I get the work.
And then, irony of irony I am “commanded” to go inside and to rejoice for this son of my father. A party that I am paying for, without my consent…a party that I neither condone – nor do I wish to attend…
And my father has the nerve to call “me” disrespectful and impudent.
I tell you, it is not easy being the eldest son, in this household or in any household, I imagine.
I must decline the invitation to go in and to be festive for my brother was lost and died a while ago. I am and remain an only child.
My father is obviously confused and disoriented, his youngest son remains as lost as ever.
It is a sad day in my household, a sad day I tell you.