I love my half brother, David. He is so smart. He is a very well-educated computer programmer, having worked for large companies and now consulting for California tech startups from his home in Vienna. He always has time for me. Dealing with my parents (he’s done it before), dealing with International Baccalaureate (he’s done it before), dealing with my panicking that I am not good enough (he’s done it before). Had he been a sister, he would have been perfect (polishing nails not his strong suit).
I am very angry with my half brother David. He is too protective of me. Once, I spent a weekend at his place, and he took me go-kart driving. I was the only kid with full leather gear, proper motorcycle helmet, gloves and boots. There is a go-kart track on the roof of a local mall. It is so enticing. You get to drive, pedal to the metal, go-karts are really stable – before they kip, they slide. Other people barely had anything. They felt wind on their bare arms. I felt trapped. They were turning around, looking for their friends, I barely was able to turn. I was hot, I was slow. I was also unsuccessful in pleading with David.
He said: It’s either plaster or leather, and I choose the latter.
But he is my brother. No halfs. My mother always says – we don’t do halfs. We do fulls.
Why? Because of my great grandfather Stane.
When Stane was in his twenties, he was sent to die in Nazi concentration camp in Germany. But he was an architect, so he was valuable to his captors. He endured years of hardship and dreamed about ordinary life with ordinary wife and ordinary children.
Upon his return he met my great grandmother. She had five children. Their father was killed in Serbia during WWII. He saw her when walking over the main bridge in my home town. Bridge was demolished during the war, and repaired after. Tall, proud, October wind and grayness fighting with her hair. She is not going to be stopped. By no one. So different from the camp. So different from shadows who were people once. Full of life.
Every day he saw her. And he fell in love with her. They married, and had five children of their own.
He was a friendly man. Always smiling. Yet, he had a vice – books. He had his own book dealer. Echt. No matter what, he always saved some money for the next book. Books under bed, books on the shelves, books everywhere. His heart was big, the biggest. But he was also a patient man. Once, after all-nighter drawing plans for some house, my largest great uncle, 2m of a bear, then little tiny not-yet-uncle knocked over a whole jar of ink. If this happened to me, I would have yelled. I would have jumped up and down, what do you mean, why don’t you look, I need to start again, yes, you will be sorry. Not him. He just shrugged and said: my my. And started again. Because bridges can be built. Plans can be redrawn. But people are irreplaceable.
No wonder he banned the word half. His kids, all of his kids, lived in full. They studied in full. They read in full. And they fought, as kids do, in full. No halfs. As my mother says, we don’t do halfs.
Sometimes I listen to great aunts and great uncles during family reunions. It can get loud. I guess when living with so many siblings, if one is to be heard, one is to be loud. But you know what – laughter is louder! Boy, do they laugh. And then they play. Accordion, and trumpet, and bass. Full speed. No halfs.
And all of them have big hearts. My grandfather, Dušan, has many grandchildren. Some of us are related by blood. Some of them came with their parents. But all of us were loved, are loved, and always welcome in his world.
I try to do things right. Study hard. Cry hard. Laugh hard. Ask good questions. Learn. Sleep. Play with dogs.
Fulls, no halfs.