Wearing My Brother's Shoes

         Screams filled the air.  Casualties flew, scattered by the impact and bodies lay strewn about the ground, still as death.  Instruments destruction remained gripped in their cold, unmoving hands, and the vehicle survived in surprisingly good condition, albeit flipped upon its back.
         “I got you first!” I cried.
         Alex simply offered a look of contempt as he gathered his G.I Joe figurines scattered across the bedroom floor.
         “I had a guy hiding up there and he shot your driver before the bomb hit my car!”
         Alex glanced up where I pointed and laughed at me.
         “That guy doesn’t even have a gun!” he taunted.
         Sure enough, the Snake Eyes figurine had somehow lost his rifle.  That traitorous jerk!  I had lost the battle, but I would never admit that to my older brother.
         “I still won…” I proclaimed with a foot already halfway out the door.
         Being the wonderfully even-tempered older brother that he was, Alex yelled at me and chased me through the house, swearing he would beat me up if I did not admit I had lost.
         We were inseparable in those days.  Since we were only two years apart, we were both close enough to do just about everything together.  I always followed behind him – whether he wanted me to or not.  He would even take me on a few of his first dates during his early junior high years, though looking back on it and the inevitable conversations that always followed those dates now, I suspect it had more to do with bragging rights than any real desire to have his younger sibling tagging along with him on a date.
         Still, most of my fondest childhood memories involve doing something with my brother, whether those memories involve us fighting, riding our bicycles, sharing a toy, or my pushing him through his bedroom window – while it remained closed.
         That last incident was an accident, of course.
         I have come to realize that my following in my brother’s footsteps did not end at the onset of adolescence, however.  While we were not as close after he discovered what dates were really supposed to be all about (from a hormone-laden adolescent’s perspective, anyway) and he stopped inviting me along on his dates, I still tried to be like him.  I gave dating a try in 8th grade, but I lacked the social graces, looks, and charm that my older brother had apparently been blessed with.  Needless to say, the sum of my dating experiences throughout high school could be counted on one hand.  No pun intended.
         I did actually manage to go on a few dates during those years, though they were pretty uneventful as far as bragging rights go.  In the meantime, I watched my older brother graduate and give college a feeble attempt before joining the Army.  With my skeletal frame and opposition to violence, the military presented one path he tread I would never follow him on.  What I lacked and he possessed in physical attributes, my genes favored in more intellectual pursuits.  Though my grades took a dip during my latter days of high school and early college years, I would be lying if I said I did not do generally well in school.
         Shortly after joining the Army, Alex tied the knot with a pretty young woman and they set their sights on the American Dream.  A couple years later, they awoke emotionally scarred from their “dream” and went through a difficult divorce.
         In complete contradiction to the way I just described myself and my outlook on the military, I made the wonderfully spontaneous decision to get married and join the Army a month after some idiots crash-landed a couple 747s in New York.  I based my decision in part upon the unfortunate events of September 2001, though I must admit someone else already planted that particular seed in my mind several years earlier.  Over time a deeper understanding of the world at-large and the necessary evils therein dissipated my naivete with regards to the military, wars, and violence.
         I became a U.S. Army soldier and tied the knot with a pretty young woman.  We set our sights on the American Dream.  Four years later, we awoke, emotionally scarred from our “dream” and went through a difficult divorce.  Like my brother before me, after being honorably discharged from the military, I tried applying for a U.S. Postal Service position.  He still works there; they overlooked me during the hiring process.
         I came a long way since my childhood, and my brother and I are not nearly as close as we used to be.  We will never again fight over whose figurine shot whose first or go bicycling all over town, but neither will he cease to be my older brother, forever looked up to, despite his short temper and other shortcomings.  I found my own path to follow years ago, yet somehow my choices still seem to echo those he has already made.  I cannot help but believe I will never entirely escape his influence in my life.  It is difficult to determine precisely how different one’s life would have turned out had another individual not been present, but I am quite certain I would have been hopelessly lost and lonely through many adventures thusfar in life without my older brother, Alex.