When did you have a disturbing realization about your childhood hero?

The Role Model and the Ruin

My psycho older brother framed me for a severe felony and now that my life is ruined, he’s back wanting to be best friends again. My older brother convinced me to be abusive, so I listened. I was 12 and my brother was about to move out for college when my mom discovered that the eggs she had frozen had completely degenerated.

She couldn’t have another baby.

Mom, I don’t want a sibling. Am I not enough for you? I asked instinctively.

She would always try to reassure me that I was enough for her. Still, I hoped every night that she’d never be able to adopt.

A few months later, she was asked to babysit a baby called Daisy. Her friend found a completely unclothed child left crying at her front door. She couldn’t take care of the child due to having three toddlers. Since my mom is known for being generous, her friend asked if she could babysit Daisy for the night until CPS came.

My mom agreed and we both loved the baby so much that we ended up adopting her and accepting her into our family. At first, I loved her. She was three and so much fun to play with. I taught her how to tie her own lace and build blanket forts. We even had multiple handshakes that only we knew.

It honestly felt like the sibling I never had. Even though I technically had a brother, he effing hated me. When I was a child and wanted to play with him, he’d hit me until I left him alone. He’d constantly break every new toy I got to teach me how to be tough.

Instead of telling our mom, I just let it happen for years. I saw him as such a role model that I wanted his approval more than anything. Having a built-in friend who I felt safe and comfortable with meant everything to me.

Until one day when Trevor pulled me aside, he asked me if I noticed anything different about Daisy in comparison to me and him.

Um, she’s a lot funnier. My voice was innocent, unknowing.

“No, she’s a dirty n-word, and we can’t be around her.” His tone was cold and unforgiving.

Daisy was African-American while we were white Americans. I furrowed my eyebrows and tilted my head. He continued, “You see, people like her are always angry, always ready to commit violence. You don’t want mom to be hurt, do you?”

I shook my head violently, and he nodded. “Except there’s one thing. Adults don’t like when boys hit girls, so you have to be the one to do it.” I started tearing up, not liking the glimpse of the adult world I thought I was getting.

But that’s when my brother did something so unexpected that it instantly changed everything. He gave me a hug and said, “I’m proud of you. You have to be strong.” In response, I smiled super hard and hugged him back.

That’s when we heard our mom’s footsteps. He pushed me off and pretended like nothing happened. Since I had nothing better to do, I returned to playing with Daisy. I didn’t really know how to follow my brother’s advice or what he wanted me to do. So, I just listened to what I thought was my intuition. But, it was really just my developing anger issues.

Whenever Daisy didn’t do what I’d say, I’d pinch her arm until she cried. When she talked to my mom, I’d pull her aside and tell her our mom secretly hates her. I warned that the more she talks, the more she’ll want to bring her to the orphanage. This always shut her up straight away.

By the time she turned four, she was a complete shell of who she used to be. She hated playing. She always wanted to be alone. She did everything she could to please me.

The worse I treated her, the nicer my brother was to me. He’d tell me that I was saving the family, that I was protecting mom. As much as I hate to admit it, deep down I knew it was wrong. But the nicer my brother treated me, the more it seemed like morals just didn’t really matter.

Then came Daisy’s breaking point, or rather my breaking point. One day, she came home to all of her toys being completely broken. I had done the same thing my brother always did to me. Usually, our mom was so busy that she never even noticed what was going on.

But that day, Mom came home early, and Daisy was crying so loudly I knew it would make her suspicious. I hit her again and again until her tiny self was covered in injuries. When she was quiet, I breathed a sigh of relief until red started dripping on the floor.

That’s when our mom walked in with a plate of apples and grapes. As soon as she saw us, her face went ghost white and she screamed. I was so scared of what her reaction would be that I didn’t even notice Daisy had passed out beside me. Then my brother walked in.

“Why did you make me do this? I effing hate you.” I yelled while my mom tried to dial 911.

I don’t even know why I expected him to be honest. He turned to my mom and said, “She’s dangerous.” Except this time she was talking about me, not Daisy.

When the ambulance arrived, they prioritized saving Daisy. As they brought her to the hospital, I saw it: the flashing red and blue lights. It was the police. They took me in and questioned me. I could tell they weren’t believing a word I said. When they left to talk to my mom, my fears were immediately confirmed.

That’s when I saw one of the officers hugging Trevor and congratulating him on being the man of the house. He smirked. He smirked.