All my life, I dreamed of being in my brother’s shoes, but everything soon changed.
My mom found out she was expecting me at the age of eighteen. As soon as my father heard the news, he left us; he was more interested in endless parties and friends than in having a family. My grandparents were furious. In the small town near Birmingham, having a child out of wedlock was considered disgraceful, and my grandfather threw her out, yelling, “I don’t want to see such an irresponsible daughter!” I can’t even imagine how tough it was for her—young, alone, with a baby in her arms. But she stood tall: enrolled in a part-time college, got a job, and worked to the point of exhaustion. She was given a room in a hostel, and we began our life together. I had to grow up faster than most kids—I’d go shopping, clean, and heat up food. Games? There was no time for that. From a young age, I was her support, her only “man.”
I never complained—rather, I was proud of it. But then Victor entered our lives. I liked him; he brought sweets, treated us to goodies, and took care of mom. She blossomed around him and one day said, “Victor and I are getting married, and we’ll move into a big house.” I was overjoyed—I dreamed of a real father, and hoped Victor would be that for me. At first, everything was like a fairy tale. I got my own space where I could relax, listen to music, and read books. Victor helped mom, and her eyes sparkled with joy.
But then she announced she was expecting another child. Soon, Victor said, “You’ll have to move to the storeroom, Stan. It’s going to be the nursery.” I didn’t understand; the house had plenty of rooms, so why me? The next day, my things were already packed into a cramped cubbyhole that barely fit a bed. It was unfair, but I stayed silent—I was used to enduring.
When my little brother Mike was born, the nightmare began. His cries kept me up at night, and I went around like a zombie. My grades plummeted, teachers scolded me, and Mom yelled, “You need to set an example for your brother! Stop embarrassing us, you lazybones!” As Mike grew, new responsibilities fell onto me—to walk him around the garden, push his pram in the yard. The kids laughed at me, and I turned red with shame, but I stayed silent. Everything better—toys, clothes—was bought for Mike. I’d ask for something, and Victor would dryly reply, “No money.” I’d walk my brother to nursery, pick him up, feed him, clean the house—living in constant wait for the day he’d grow up and grant me freedom.
Mike went to school, and Mom told me to help him with his homework. He was spoiled and demanding—did terribly in school, and my attempts to reason with him ended with him complaining to Mom. She always sided with him, and I’d get told off: “You’re the oldest, be more patient!” He was transferred from school to school but failed everywhere. Eventually, they put him in a private one where you could pay for them to overlook his poor grades. I left for a technical college to become a mechanic—not because I wanted to, but to escape home.
Then there were correspondence courses and work—I toiled day and night, saving up for my own place. I married, found peace. And Mike? Victor gifted him a flat, but he still lives with my parents, rents it out, and spends the money on rubbish. He doesn’t want to work, just lazes about in front of the TV. One year, on New Year’s Day, we gathered at our parents’. His latest girlfriend, Helen, came over. I happened to overhear their conversation in the kitchen.
“You’re lucky with your brother,” she said to my wife, Tania. “Stan’s such a hard worker, so responsible. Why isn’t Mike like that? I keep asking him to move in together and start a family, but he just clings to his mum. He’s got rental income, but what’s the point?”
“Yes, Stan’s great,” Tania smiled. “Dump Mike, he isn’t worth it. He’d make a lousy husband.”
I froze. Mike changed girlfriends like gloves, but none stayed long—mom drove them all away, thinking them unworthy of her “golden boy.” And he never resisted, living in his lazy cocoon. And then I realized: I no longer envy him. Everything I dreamed of—being in his place—turned out to be empty. Life tested me, but also rewarded me for it. I have a family, a loving wife, a daughter, and a house I built with my own hands. I’m proud of myself, and for the first time, I’m not sorry that I’m not Mike. My life is my victory—hard-won and genuine.
