This story was written and performed by Blake Friis for the live, personal storytelling series Oral Fixation (An Obsession With True Life Tales) at the Wyly Studio Theatre in Dallas, on April 14, 2014.
The theme of the show was "Ducks in a Row."
"Family dynamics can be tough, especially when siblings are like night and day," says Oral Fixation creator and director Nicole Stewart. "Blake Friis chose the more traditional route -- college, marriage, family -- while his brother left their Iowa hometown to pursue rock-and-roll dreams in L.A. A rift exists between them to this day, but Blake has discovered it's not his brother he needs to forgive: it's himself. Read his story here and don't miss his performance in the video below."
Have you ever wanted to understand someone so badly, but every time you're around them they find a way to piss you off, so you just quit?
I have a brother. His name is Ben and he's two and a half years younger than me -- an age gap large enough for me to view myself as a wise mentor and small enough for him to view me as slightly taller than him.
I was a rule-following conformist before I was old enough to know how unsexy that is. The mere thought of disappointing my parents was devastating. I was rarely grounded as a kid, not because I never messed up, but because even a minor scolding from my parents made me want to go to my room think about what I'd done.
Ben, on the other hand, was never burdened by such insignificant things as disappointing people. When my parents grounded him for continually sneaking downstairs after bedtime to use the phone, he ran a separate wire through the ceiling and quietly called his girlfriend from the comfort of his own room, at all hours of the night.
My father is a third-generation farmer who encouraged us to follow our passions. He hoped it would lead to emotional reward and spare us the physical wear and tear he has endured in a lifetime of farming. The expectation was that education, specifically college, would be our ticket off the family farm in rural Iowa.
Seemed reasonable to me. Ben? Not so much. He started drumming in garage bands in high school, and stopped discussing college as his future plan. If universities didn't offer a Badass Rockstar major, what the hell good were they anyway?
Audacious as it may have seemed to people in our tiny Mayberry-esque hometown, Ben was never afraid to share this dream. I admired that. Like the rest of my family, I worried about some of his choices, but I believed in him, and I believed in my ability to guide him as a big brother, even as he continually defied authority.
I was in college, pursuing my ticket to anywhere -- a communications degree (haha!) -- when I heard rumors of Ben's alleged drug use. People don't do coke in Mayberry. This was concerning. He was living in an apartment full of people with tattoos and glassy eyes. One could imagine this group doing drugs, but Ben assured me these were small-town rumors started by people with nothing better to do. It was the first time he lied to my face.
Shortly after that the bottom fell out. Ben was pulled over at 2 a.m. and arrested for DUI, possession of a controlled substance, and hit-and-run. Ben gave the police my name and address and was charged as me. At 9 a.m. the next morning, Ben's girlfriend bailed him out, and I started receiving a series of very confusing phone calls.
The very definition of "up shit creek" could be stealing one's identity after having burned so many bridges you have only that person to ask for money. And he did! He asked me to help pay fines he got trying to stick me with a DUI. I wasn't feeling particularly helpful, but I wasn't really pissed either. I was feeling the kind of disappointment I always dreaded causing, and for the first time I could remember, the disappointment seemed to affect Ben. He apologized, copped to the selfishness of his actions, and promised to make it right if I gave him one more chance. I pulled $3,000 out of my savings -- a massive amount at the time -- and wrote him a check.
He promptly disappeared to L.A. with his band. I didn't tell my family about the money I loaned him -- mostly to spare myself from looking like the sucker I was. Then my stepmother confided in me that she was frustrated by Ben's abrupt departure because she had paid off his outstanding legal fines -- nearly $3,000 in total. Now I was pissed.
It was a devastating blow. I was done with Ben, and it wasn't about the money. Despite the vast difference in our personalities and the direction of our ambitions, he knew I would always be there for him, and he manipulated that loyalty to fund his move to L.A. and never looked back. I was just another body in his wake. And that hurt like hell.
Today, Ben is still a musician in L.A. He's crafted a persona complete with a stage name based on his haircut. He gets behind the drum kit under the moniker Tye MoHawk.
People from our hometown occasionally tell me about this Tye character appearing on some MTV reality show or as a tattooed after-hours party boy on an episode of The Bad Girls Club. I once received an email with a link to a delightful website called Hot Chicks With Douche Bags, where he was referred to as a "walking herp sore."
While Ben has been pursuing the rockstar life with varying degrees of success, I have led the happy little life he rejected for more grandiose dreams -- college, a slow and steady career path, mortgage, and marriage.
Over the years, I became frustrated enough to accept with the idea I may never again see my brother outside reality TV or the Internet. But that changed when I became a father.
The day my son was born, I received a Facebook message from Mr. MoHawk. After nearly a decade with almost no contact, I'd never been less qualified to analyze his motives. Maybe he hoped to rectify past mistakes. Maybe he simply thought the birth of my son was worthy of acknowledgment.
I was going to Los Angeles for a work function later that month. It would put me in town for only 24 hours, but I suggested we meet and attempt to reconcile our differences once and for all.
He agreed to meet me for a drink at the hotel or somewhere nearby. As my plane took off, the nervous energy I felt for the reunion had awkward dude-hug written all over it. Ten years of anger was eroding and I was excited to see my little brother again. I realized I wasn't really still angry about the situation; I was just used to being angry. It was a thoughtless default emotion when the subject of Ben came up. And I felt motivated to change that.
I texted Ben that I had arrived at the hotel and walked outside to the pool. Dozens of beautiful people were drinking cocktails and laying out at 3 p.m. on a Thursday. I walked to the poolside bar and ordered a Bud Light, just in case my pasty legs and cargo shorts hadn't sufficiently exposed my Midwest roots.
After nursing two beers and checking my phone with embarrassing frequency, there was no sign of Ben. I went back to my room and got ready for the event. I was sent there to network on behalf of my employer. Instead I drank a little more vodka than necessary at a work function and tried to serve my own agenda by texting Ben yet again.
After last call, I went back to the hotel. Our 24-hour window closed without so much as a single response or explanation.
I'd gone to L.A. ready to repair a strained relationship, believing it would somehow make me a better father. I'd be able to teach my son, without an ounce of hypocrisy, that grudges occupy space in your heart better filled with forgiveness. I left L.A. with a decision to make -- hold onto a grudge or forgive someone who has given no indication he is sorry.
Sometimes the best thing you can do is focus your energy inward. The failed reconciliation forced me to address the real issue: I didn't need to forgive Ben for his betrayal; I needed to forgive myself for giving up on our relationship. I can't make up for those 10 years, but I can do right by the rest of them.
Since L.A., I have invited Ben to two grandfathers' 80th birthdays and my wife's graduation from nursing school. Throw in holidays, and I've created a pretty exhausting little list of things for him not to do.
And I'll continue to provide these opportunities to connect. Because for this husband, father, son, and big brother, having my ducks in a row is all about letting go of the hurt and disappointment, and making sure my little brother knows I'm here if needs me.