Essays, Etc.

Cousins, Etc.

I, unlike many people, have grown up with my cousins. Mainly on one side of the family, namely my mother’s, but I do see my other set on occasion.

My aunt has had three children, of whose name’s I will change. The firstborn is named Firstborn, the second born is named Secondborn, and the most recent child was named John.

Firstborn is a lot like me, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. He, like myself, is very intelligent, but he has even more of an ego about it than me (somehow). We have been very close since he was born, despite me being five years older.

Despite this, however, we do not appear close. If you were to see us in public together you would probably place bets on who would be viciously murdered first.

This is because, like many instances within a family, we are simply too alike in too many ways. He is too smart, and too egotistical, for his own good. He has been calling himself sexy since around seven, and enjoys mocking me for my lesser good-looks.

His claim, of course, is false. I look incredible.

I also feel as though I have taught him things, which terrifies me to no end. If you have never been around a young child for a large part of your life, allow me to explain: Imagine a child’s brain as a slab of clay. You can mold it into anything, intentional or not. In my case, I have tried to mold a spitting image of myself, and have succeeded: I have created a self-absorbed, witty, brilliant, clever human being who lives for the idea of getting an easy way out.

When we are together at family functions, it often ends up with one of us yelling “YOU WANT TO GO?!?” at the other, and then the other rushing the aggressor, and then one of us throwing a “playful” punch.

Most people would look down on fighting your ten year old cousin, but I do not. He’s old enough to know that I can beat his ass.

We have nearly murdered each other on multiple occasions.

The first that comes to memory was at a family gathering fairly recently, when Firstborn was out on the driveway smashing a wooden structure he stole from the neighbor’s garbage with a screwdriver, his bike, and a sledgehammer.

He is ten.

So, being a good cousin and role model, I helped him and suggested he make a makeshift ramp with a cinderblock and ram his bike off it.

He said that was “retarded.”

I said it was only “retarded” because he was too much of a wuss to do it.

He walked into the garage and came out with an ax. Not a tiny ax, but a full-blown, two-handed, “I-will-cut-your-head-off” ax.

After yelling “JESUS CHRIST,” I managed to run around long enough to tire him and drop the ax.

While he would have obviously never done anything with it, when someone comes after you with an ax, especially one you just called a wuss, you do not play. You run.

I suppose, however, that I would win the “Worst Cousin” award, were we to hold a contest between us, simply because of one instance over four years ago:

We were at the beach, and Firstborn was old enough to go to the shallow end, but no farther. I, however, could go wherever I damn well pleased, and I assumed that in his young age he would not choose to follow me, and that my aunt had equipped him with floaties.

Both assumptions were wrong, as my aunt had assumed I would be watching him.

That assumption was wrong as well.

So I was playing with some toys I had borrowed from a few kids, and I heard a strange gurgling noise. I turned around and saw Firstborn with his head underwater and splaying his arms everywhere.

Now, in retrospect, my decision in the next instance was not the best.

I had decided that, if I dropped the toys in the ocean to save my cousin, they would float away, and how would the children ever get their bargain-bin toys back? No, I must return them!

And return them I did. As my cousin was drowning behind me (my aunt had caught on and was about to pick him up at that very moment), I returned the toys. The children pointed to Firstborn behind me, and I nodded in understanding. I had known, no need to tell me.

I could go over the extreme scolding and crying session that occurred afterward, but I would not want to bore you- you can imagine what it was like.

Despite what I have said, Firstborn and I do love each other. Very much so, in fact.

The fact is, we both need each other, if only to tell each other that other people like ourselves exist.

And, for us, that is all we need.