My brother, Andrew Joseph Katsbulas, was born on June 12th, 2006. I was 5 years old. From the moment I found out my mom was pregnant – which I don’t quite remember – to the moment he arrived, I was consumed with my eagerness to meet him. My older sister, Serena, and I did not like each other at that time, and I was certain that my new brother would become my best friend.
Our family, not quite as massive as it is now, was large even back then. As I grew, I saw our family grow; each of the cousins – between my age and Serena’s – were being given siblings on what seemed like a yearly basis. I longed for it to be my turn. Many parents fear how their children might react to a new member of the family coming home; mine knew I was excited, patiently waiting for our story to unfold.
When Andrew was born, I was at my grandparents house, my Nanny and Tata. Serena was surely somewhere around too. At 11:57am, Nanny put me on the phone.
“Your brother was just born! They’ll bring you to the hospital to come see him soon!”
I demanded we went right then; I would not wait one moment longer. After calming me down, they suggested some lunch before we left. Tata made me a baked potato – never failed to make me drool. An hour would pass before we finally left. Unfortunately, I don’t remember: arriving there, meeting him, or his placement in my arms. I’m positive I was happy, feeling nervous, and dying to take him home.
Only eleven months later, my baby sister would, too, be born.
Those first two years of their lives, there’s not too much I remember. They were infants, mere babies, crawling and scooting along the floor. Though, one memory sticks out:
Shortly after Katelyn was born, we all were home, dispersed, as we normally were. I recall hearing crying; Andrew’s cry for sure. This wasn’t of concern, like I said they were babies, I figured that’s their norm. Only then, I heard my mom scream. Something terrible must’ve occurred. I rushed over and was met with horror: Andrew had eaten nearly an entire tube of Desitin – diaper rash medicine. His tongue, gums, and few teeth were covered in the thick paste, as were his lips, chin, and cheeks. Immediately, I lost control.
“MOM HE’S GONNA DIE. WHAT DO WE DO. HE ATE THE MEDICINE. THERE’S ALMOST NOTHING LEFT. IS HE GONNA DIE? MOM? NO, MOM PLEASE WE HAVE TO CALL THE HOSPITAL. CAN AN AMBULANCE COME HERE?”
My mom, though freaked out, for once kept her cool. The number for poison control was listed in bold, red-font on the back of the tube. She called them, while, I believe, Serena swooped in. Serena washed out his mouth, Andrew wailing nonetheless. Poison Control told my mom it was non-toxic, he’d just have a bad poop or two. After clearing it from his face, mouth, and more, we flushed his system with water, and then, nothing more! Andrew was fine, didn’t die, or face concerns. But that proved: I needed my brother and I loved him after, even more.
As time passed my eagerness grew: I had a strengthening desire to teach and show Andrew the things I was into: flash games on the computer, reading, console gaming, swimming in our pool, and singing every song that played on the radio. Some of those were a hit and others an undoubtable miss.
When Andrew was 6, he took favor to a flash game I enjoyed: Cactus McCoy. The game was a simple point and shoot platformer, but we played it tirelessly, beating it multiple times over. The day eventually came when Andrew would show me that the flash site we used – the ancient MiniClip – was supremely inferior to one he discovered: NotDoppler. We would obsess over different flash games until 2013, when we finally convinced our mom to buy us MineCraft. Moving forward, I would mindlessly play less and less, while he took on the role of teaching the game to Katelyn – a task he absolutely hated.
While gaming drew us closer together, it also gave reasoning for us to fear the other. Much like Serena did with me, I would blame Andrew anytime I lost, most often jolting him with a sucker punch to the arm. Andrew, much younger and much smaller than me, was not able to deliver the same effect. Instead, he would wait for a more opportune time.
With Serena having gone to college, I became the sole babysitter for our family. I would let Andrew game while I babysat him and Katelyn, but eventually, there always came time to end the session. Andrew, with eyebrows that had just begun to bloom and the most innocent face you’ve ever seen, would run across the kitchen, open a drawer, and pull out a knife. He chased me around our house with the knife, making effective use of the looping structure of our house. We would run circles around the home until I could gain enough ground to make it into our parents bathroom. Their bathroom allowed entry from their room or from the kitchen, allowing me a sneaky exit. The dual doors, however, also meant that Andrew could sneak around to the opposite side and scare me there. All the while, Katelyn was getting her game-time in. Let me be clear, this didn’t happen once. It occurred, indeed, quite often; once a month, maybe more.
Truly, there are no memories we have together that I hold fonder.
As I entered and proceeded through my teenage years, Andrew and I would hang out less and less – and by no fault of his own. In my pubescence, I wanted virtually nothing to do with my family sans my sister’s first kid. There was never bad blood between Andrew and I, we were simply interested in different things.
Soon, thereafter, one of those different interests would realize itself: I am gay.
I didn’t think too much about what that meant for my brother, for my sisters, or anyone that was not me. As I’ve grown older, my consciousness has changed, and I often think what it’d be like to be him. With a queer older brother and queer younger sister, where would he confide?
I have given Andrew space, consciously-so ever since the day that I ‘came out’. While I care not if he supports it, I do not want to overstep my place. Don’t get me wrong: we still played Among Us, talked in the group chat, and had wonderful holidays. But ever since then, I feel like I have lost him and I’m ready for that to change.
In addition to my queerness, I recognized that Andrew, too, became a teen. If I desired less familial-connection, then maybe, so might he. I am not sure if that’s the case, but he’s become his own man just the same.
When I see my brother in person, it’s as if nothing has ever changed. He is hilarious, prompting his laughter at his own dry humor. He is caring as an uncle and teases all of us siblings – which is care in his own lane. He is intelligent, blessed with my gift of the mind. He is willing and is motivated, independent, and understands life’s main game. He might not be forthcoming, you may pry to find some answers, but one thing I love about Andrew is his reliance not to lie.
Recently, I’ve been inclined to spend holidays amongst my chosen family, rather than the one I was born into. Two years ago, for Thanksgiving, I had no intention of visiting my Nanny’s home, the home where my family lives. Yet, as soon as Andrew texted me, individually, asking if I’d be there, I changed my outlook, and suddenly, found the strength to appear. I will always show up for Andrew; he’s my brother. Andrew, I love you.
We may not share our interests yet our personalities align. We are different in our deployment of how we think and how we speak. Our cadence, still, is similar and our love comes out the same. Our passions themselves are different; The drive to achieve them could be twins.
I am proud of my little brother, he graduates high school this weekend. Along with his diploma, he’ll receive a certificate from Washburn Technical School in automotive service. Accepted into college, with a job lined up, starting soon; My brother is the man, and I am proud through and through. At seventeen years old – turned eighteen just months ago – my brother has grown up immensely, and there is so much more to come.
I am sure it might feel weird having a queer in either ear; one older and one younger, Andrew is our token-straight. I hope he knows I love that; how I long for the day I meet his wife. Has our queerness changed his experience? One day, I’ll finally know. Was he bullied or more loved for it? Did it even change a thing? How did he feel when he met my ex, Tyler? Was there a panic or did he feel quite sane?
Growing into adulthood, I am confident we’ll become closer. I can’t wait to talk more, to just chat about our lives. I am happy and I am proud of the man he continues to become. We’ll grow older and find where our relationship lies. We are bound in our brotherhood and I am grateful that that’s my life.