We were waiting for the bus. standing by the side of the road quietly is something an impatient ADD kid like him can't do all too well. It was a constant exercise in creativity for me. The game was something like ""get the rock" crossed with "how far can you throw." And the goal was to hit the other side of the street. Then go get it. once it turned into dodge the traffic. We stopped playing it then. I remember he wanted to run out into the street, swore he was fast enough. I dared him to do it and his better judgment won over. I was the only one it seemed, that knew he had better judgment and called on him to use it.
Once, in the barn in the back yard, there were rats and it was dark. I don't know how I knew but when he got lost inside and couldn't find his way out, there I was like some savior out of the sky. The next time we were in there I "fell" out of a two story window and was forbidden from ever going near that place again. What bugged me other than the fact that they forbade me was this: What if he got lost again. What if he needed me. I really believed I was the only one who knew things, the only one could understand, the only one could help sometimes.
Most people realize as they grow up that they aren't really as special as they once believed. I never had that because I always had the truth of him to fall back on. Without me pushing him to do better, he never got better, never even tried. Without me understanding what he meant when he talked, no one would even think he could communicate anything cohesive. Without me knowing how he thought, he'd still be lost a dozen places. No one would take care of him, or pay attention to him until I showed him how better to do.
Like all people I needed to feel needed. We all revert to nervous habits when we feel less needed, less desirable in life. But I think I would have turned out all-right, probably better if not for him. I should care about his well-being, about him. He is, after all, my kin. I want to tell you that I need him, that I care.