Having spent some time at my Ma’s and practically forcing her to sit and read what I wrote about elder brother M, I realised my analysis was wrong.
Wrongetty wrong wrong wrong.
Ma obviously has memories of M which stretch back many years before I was born. She was also the one to go and sit with him when he was feeling so sorry for himself after he’d driven his ex and their children away. She’s not especially sympathetic.
Having pointed out M’s spelling mistakes and the ones that I made that slipped through the net, she dissected what I had actually said.
Firstly, she pointed out that it isn’t vicious. In fact, it isn’t at all. That was entirely bound up with my feeling, my perception and my vulnerability. A total stranger reading his words could at worst find them patronising and egotistical.
What they are, though, is dismissive: super dismissive.
This is what M does – he acts cool and charismatic and makes you (that is, me) want to be in his gang. Then he goes cold and uninterested, making it clear that he is too cool.
Well, that’s boring. What a knob.
My mum’s a genius (at least I think so!). She also gave me the perfect response next time the subject comes up with Dad. All I need to do is say how sad I am that he’s so dismissive toward me and how I’d love to be closer to my big brother.