My little brother Anthony is the most hyper, nervous, ball of energy I’ve ever seen. He is always talking, and he has no clue what the meaning of the words “inside voice” means. He is one of those kids, who doesn’t know when to stop playing around. I remember when he was just a baby, the day he was born, it snowed and snowed and snowed. January 5th, 1996, One of the biggest snow storms in New York.
I was only five when he was born, I didn’t understand, I thought he was magic, and he brought the snow. So his nick name was the snow baby. Very unoriginal, but it stuck. I remember I would protect him from people. I was like the bodyguard from hell. I wasn’t jealous, I was cautious. I didn’t live with my mother and HIS father the whole time though, I was somewhere else. I moved back in with them when he was five, and I was ten. My little sister Victoria and Michael were born after that.
Anthony was always spoiled though, our grandpa Billy would hug him, and love him more then any of us. Since the day Anthony was born, he was attached to him. He loved him, and we all knew that. Grandpa B had diabetes, and he died when Anthony was three maybe four, but he still understood.
I don’t know if that is why he tries so hard to stay a kid or not, but my 13 year old brother, acts like a 5 year old. He is the oldest out of the children, and he acts like the baby. Up until this year, he couldn’t tie his shoes, or fasten his belt.
I try so hard to be calm and to talk to him, but it’s so hard. He just keeps playing around. Not to mention his size. He is so tiny. Short and boney, I’m scared. He is your typical teenage boy though, he plays video games. He runs around outside, (when his asthma lets him) he isn’t good at sports though. Not real ones anyway, give him a ball, he will though it up in the air and hit himself in the head. Give him a video game, he will have beaten everyteam, twice, within a matter of days.
He likes music, but he doesn’t know about the names of the bands, he just likes the songs. He writes stories about monsters and aliens, he get scared when he writes to much, and is to detailed. I try and read it, but he writes chicken scratch. I don’t blame him, because my writing sucks too. All of ours do.
I believe it’s because we were always scared, and shaking because of my mom and my stepdad fighting. We did our homework trying to drownd out the sounds of screaming. She used to stand over me and she would scream and carrying on if I wrote something wrong, or had to erase to many times. This isn’t about me though, it’s about Anthony.
His grandmother, always called him baby Tony, since her son, his father, was big Tony. I’m not blaming her either, but somewhere along the lines, he got it in his head that acting like a baby is the way to be. I don’t understand. Maybe it’s not his fault. The doctors have diagnosed him with Aspergers. A form of Autism. I try and talk to him like he’s a teenager, or a pre-teen for that matter. Nothing works.. Between that and his horrible asthma, my mother is at the end of her rope. She’s never been a patient person.
Lately he’s picked up cursing. A 13 year old calling you a stupid bitch, when all you did was tell him that he couldn’t stay up till 2am on the playstation is a bit harsh. Or asking him to do the dishes, or sweep his bedroom floor. Don’t dare ask him to take a shower, he might scream his head off. Oh, and never, ever, talk to him when he’s watching TV, ever. Unless you have a death wish, or like having a killer headache that no amount of drugs can get rid off.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother, I just wish I could understand him, and what goes on through his mind when he does the things he does, or says the things he says.