My brother from another Mother.

When does it matter?

When doesn’t matter?

Whether you are

Black or White?

I know what I think.

Because I have a brother.

From.

Another.

Mother.

Where did he “come from”. I might add, some folks wonder the same thing about.

Me.🤪

And I supposedly know where I “came from”.

I do not know where he “came from”.

But I do know there was a time when we walked a similar path of an existence. And it was nothing more than an innocent and learned experience of lifelong:

Respect.

Regard.

Reflection.

And. A dog.

To guard and help guard the secrets.

Of some of the “roadblocks” that “came up” along the way.

Articulation does not even do justice.

What I can say: With a brother, there is a warmth that is seldom ever spoken

Spoken. Written. Sign language.. Cart wheels. Hand stands. Smiley faces. Whatever? Those might be “tools” used later on. By Lord knows who for what ever reason. To get ahead.

You really do not find that foundation of trust in a lot of places, just anywhere. With a lot of people. But after all these years, there is a camaraderie.Built on time spent together.

I think that is why we both love dogs, He gets it. And I get it. Too.

What I can share about my brother from another Mother. He and I are both:

White. Skinned.

How you, the reader, choose to interpret that is your business, perhaps even your concern.

But it is neither for me. Because where my brother from another Mother “came from” never mattered to me. Un-bridled or bridled, our Father could not have been more proud to give my brother from another Mother his name. His surname, His last name.

I wish more could be said about the ‘til death do us part about marriage. Boy, oh, boy. Is it used. Over and over and over and over. Identitally-speaking.

So. I’ll just be the first to ask politely.

Can we “Stop It”.

The madness of using the color grid, gendered grid slot to slot us into our existences?

Please.

My brother from another Mother and I shared a lot. Good. Bad. Ugly. Fun. Fear.

He never once laid a hand on me. Even as he earnestly asked me to sit on his bed in his basement bedroom while he blasted music and turned up and down the volume of the speakers to ensure I heard the synthesizer and the guitar strings. Passionate about many things he cared to share. And I was curious and wanting and willing to listen.

My brother from another Mother another really wanted someone to hear him.

I did. Loud and clear. Made no difference what he or I agreed or disagreed on. But I can tell you we could not be more “different” in our views about “stuff”.

We have the luxury of “agreeing to disagree” and it makes no matter which side of the line we walk. We learn a lot from one another and perspectives. Because we walked the walk and talked the talk and shared the experiences of

Music

Sports.

Music and Sports.

Food.

Aversion to food(s)

Temper-filled.

Contrary-iness.

Joy.

Pain.

Rebellious nature.

A dog.

Rebel.

The list goes on.

What I learned from him was restraint. And un-bridled confidence in the face of fear.

My brother from another Mother taught me to always and everyday even when unpopularly to:

Stick up for myself.

So. Ugh. I passed on the lesson to two more happen- to-be males-much to their dis- gruntled-eye-rolls-and-blocks, and-stomps-and-explosions.

But what I can say is my Brother from another Mother helped me

Understand.

To this day. To look out onto the landscape and see what is important and pertinent without the shades of color gendered blinds drawn or pulled or whatever.

I will admit. At times. It was difficult to keep up with my brother from another Mother. So quick. So passionate about so many things. It takes a very strong and special person to love a person in such as way as to keep up with their thoughts, words and actions.

But. I learned because he shared.

Time and circumstances have a way of testing our will. Our will to belong. Our will NOT to belong. Our metal. Our mettle. To really look past the color gendered blinds and see the flash of vulnerability takes only a

Split second.

What we do with that split second can take a lifetime to unpack.But it matters who, what, where, when, why and how it is unpacked.

And how the rumors slink, spin, whirl, swirl and twirl. And the cats. Jealously spitting all over the other so called cats.

At this point. I guess it is time to just go ahead and admit it.

I am a girl.

One of four my brother from another Mother grew up with under the “same roof”. Each one of us girls having a different experience under that roof. (LK)

Ironically. Equal to the number of times my brother from another mother embarked on marriage to other girls. I have been harping about nature versus nurture to the point that I almost

Gave up.

But I did not. I did not quit. I did not leave. I have never “retired” from the hope that my brother from another Mother find inner peace enough to calmly know that in spite of despite of him being

”given up” shortly after his birth. That for whatever reason, that is a nothing burger to the life of lessons he taught me through the fist fights and the groveling for the purse strings of the one who held the strings.

The puppet master.

Adoption, for some, can be an en vogue band aid. Shouting out a personal race of the race. Time will tell. It usually does. As to whether it matters, and for what reason we may or may not Hollywoodly enter into color gridded or not color gridded reasons to get ahead.

So. Tempers be told. There was never a fear of my brother from another Mother. There is a fear FOR him.(LK) For the girls in his orbit, for the cats scratching at his door.

My hope is that my brother from another Mother knows there is no harm in what he taught me repeatedly about the life lesson of to stick up for oneself. White or Black. Girl or Boy.

Pass on this lesson(s) he and I learned living under the same roof. Life challenges and trials prove that if given the chance to learn, pay attention, listen and hear, take the time and remember that with a brother—from another Mother—or a brother from a same Mother—there is a warmth that is seldom ever

Spoken.