PART THREE / CHAPTER TEN

Mothers Fathers Sisters (brother)

Set. Seutekh. Seth. 

The clown. 

The God of Chaos. 

Amis. AY-meh. Amos. 

The Eyore.

The troubled burden bearer. 

_______________________

I was standing in the basement staring at the centre post. Faded bluish grey. Wide—plank boards that were lapped together and rested on the concrete floor. Spaced out spider-webbed joists lay overtop. The stairs rising to the right, paint-chipped worn. Creaking out a symphony of groans when struck. My mother stood beside me, waiting. My brother was out of sight. Hiding. Lost. I don’t know. My feet were cold. I don’t remember.

Our house was older. A large 1930’s American Craftsman. A vintage-type-temple from an architectural age long past. Complete with exposed wood beam ceiling features. Bones of cedar-wood. Panes of warbled french glass. Wood floors and fireplaces. It was a beautiful edifice. With space enough for all nine of us, plus two full-sized Christmas trees, and a phone on each floor.

I lifted the receiver. Punched in the numbers. A string of digits I knew by heart. Dialled countless times. In good faith, naturally. For friendship’s sake. And fun. 

Those numbers were cursed. 

I waited. 

Held the handset loosely. Lips resting against the mouthpiece. I stared at the phone’s ringer box hanging off the post like a barnacle. Beige-office-grade. Another throw-away piece of old-tech my father reclaimed for our at home use. The basement was full of cast-aways just like it. Mixed-matched skates. Computer screens. Keyboards. Multi-coloured interlocking CD cases, that when stacked, looked like office towers. A tomb of oddities. Misfits. 

“Hello.”

Breath. 

“Hi. You can’t come around here anymore.”

“Why?”

“My brother said… Is it true?”

“No!”

“Then why?”

“You don’t believe him do you?!”

“I do.”

Pause.

“You can’t come around here anymore.”

Click. 

Fade to black. 

_______________________

“Scaffolding” is a phrased long used in education as a way to articulate the building up of an idea. A good teacher will “scaffold” their students to a new concept. One idea - one tier - at a time. Scaffold takes time. Precision. Care. In order for ideas and beliefs and concepts to stick, they need to be structured properly. “Bridge building” works the same. “Lay a foundation.” Stack. Build. One block at a time. 

Be sure to place the coder pins; they’re keeping the scaffold together. 

Be sure to set the keystone; it’s holding all the weight. 

_______________________

Mid November, 2022.

I had been in therapy for weeks. Intense sessions exploring buried parts. It had been exposing. Soul-bearing. I was falling towards a new and unknown terrifying-freedom. My spiritual trauma was just the start. I began to question everything. My faith. Ambitions. The role I played within my family. Who I was. Who I wanted to be. My identity. It was all coming down. Tiers and posts and stones and all. 

Coder pins pulled. Keystone kicked out. I was collapsing. 

Sunday morning. 

Despite the fatigue, I had to get ready for church. Christmas was just around the corner and advent was on my mind. I picked up my toothbrush from the cabinet. Laid the paste. Watered the brush. Set tool to teeth. When, out of nowhere, it hit.  

Memories of long past. 

The face of my kid brother Seth. The post where the beige phone hung. Picking up the phone. Dialling the number. Calling my friend. Our conversation. The sound of his voice. My confusion. Naivety. The impact. And the realization that my friend had sexually assaulted my brother. 

“My brother said… Is it true?”

“No!”

“Then why?”

“You don’t believe him do you?!”

“I do.. And you can’t come around here anymore.”

Click.

Then the feelings. Overwhelming. A geyser from deep within. They came as a surge. Wave after wave. Large and powerful. With force. These feelings had been waiting in my body for over two decades. There was no escaping their impact. Like a wall of ocean released in a single moment - they were here. 

Haunting. Sorrow. Grievous. Regret. 

We didn’t do enough to protect my brother.

We didn’t do anything; I didn’t do anything. 

We failed to keep him safe.

We didn’t do anything; I didn’t do anything. 

We didn’t do enough to help him after the fact. After the abuse. All those years. Struggling alone. He was just a kid. Why didn’t we do more?

We didn’t do enough; I didn’t do enough. 

We failed him; I failed him. 

I failed my brother. 

“And I want to go back.” 

I want to back to that exact moment in the basement. I want to find my brother. Hold out my hand. Bring him out from hiding. Walk him into the light. I want to hold him. Hug him tightly. As an older brother. I want to go back and tell him that it’s not his fault. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was a kid. He didn’t do anything wrong. I want to tell him how so incredibly brave he was for telling his story. I want to go back. I want to embrace him. Spend every day I can with him. I want to keep him close. Hear his laugh cleanse the dark. I want to go back. I want to side-step the years-to-come-avoidance that will follow that call in the basement. The distance that will eventually grow between us. The hatred I would feel but not be able to place. I didn’t understand then - but I do now. I want to back and make it right. I want to be his best friend. His champion. His advocate. His big brother. 

More than anything, I want to go back and tell him, “I am sorry.”

I am so sorry. 

For everything. 

_______________________

Collapsing scaffolds are no joke. They’re painful. Pinched fingers, smacked heads. Tonnes of steal and wood falling on you will do that. A collapsing scaffold is something you want to avoid.

But sometimes, scaffolds needs to come down. 

Ideas change. Beliefs evolve. Truths emerge.

Sometimes, coder pins need to be pulled; keystones need to drop. Scaffolds need to be pushed; bridges need to collapse. 

No matter how violent. Chaotic. Or painful. 

And when they come down they make room for something new. Something more beautiful. Pure. Honest. 

I am eternally grateful my scaffold came down. 

For there, in the wreckage, I met my kid brother. Saw his smile. Heard his laugh. Felt his love. Remembered his story. One that had been laying-in-wait inside me for over 26 years. And now, I can finally hold out my hand and tell him, “I am sorry.” 

For everything. 

_______________________

Seth’s sexual abuse isn’t a secret. He’s told his story many times and in many forms. Most notably, Seth took to the stage for a TEDTalk on male childhood abuse. Warrior-brave, on that stage, in front of an audience of infinite, Seth told his story for the world to hear. He’s no mouse. Seth is one of the strongest and most resilient men I have ever met. A man of vulnerability. Forbearance. Strength. He’s determined and ingenious. With little support from anyone, Seth has engineered ways to overcome his inner demons. He’s ducked and dodge the obstacles while raising 4 incredible kids and doting on his darling wife. He has counselled others through death, trauma, and pain. And he has done so with laughter, and grace, and humour. He’s no clown. Or mascot. He is a man of his community. A champion for the weak. A hero-as-advocate for countless abuse survivors. A courageous witness for others who've suffered childhood sexual abuse.

Seth is one of the most creative, resilient, and formidable human beings I know. I love my kid brother. And I couldn’t be prouder to call him my friend.

Bridges come down. 

Scaffolds collapse. 

Renewed life emerges.

_______________________

A wise teacher once said, “Destroy this temple… and in three days I will build it up.” Not with bricks, or metal tiers, coder pins or keystones. The new temple is built with relationship. It’s a building made of love.

How do you claw back 26 years of lost time with your kid brother? I don’t know. It’s nebulous. But ever since that Sunday morning in mid-November I’ve been at it. Day after day. Call after call. Message after message. Joke after joke. Seth has been more than forgiving. And we’ve got time. Eyore and the Clown.