Leah Hampton

Professor Hughes
English 1101
February 7, 2016

A Game of Reality

My parents tell me the first thing I said when I met my little brother was, No baby
Adam! Even in my two year old mind I knew that the place I had held in my family had now
changed forever. I was no longer the only child and the only grandchild to two sets of doting
grandparents. I was one of two and the struggle for domination began as soon as my sibling
learned to hold his own. I felt the constant annoyance of having to share my parents attention,
my toys and my space. Everything that had once been mine was now equally distributed.
Throughout our childhood my mother took pictures continuously. She attempted to
capture every event, every cute baby face and every moment of our brother-sister relationship.
Many of these images depict two happy smiling children, our faces illuminated with child-like joy,
but the truth of our relationship was far more intense.
Probably the most honest photograph of the two of us was one taken on a sunny
afternoon in the small living room of our home in West Chicago. Adam and I were smiling up at
the camera hugging each other, each of us holding a beany baby. Our beany babies (or
beanies as we called them) were a constant source of connection for the two of us. We would
spend hours playing with the little bean-stuffed creatures in our imaginary world. These games
were some of the only times we didnt argue, but simply played and enjoyed each others
company. No one else was allowed to join in our revelry, for we were the god and goddess of
our little world and (as the beanies often reminded each other) our word was the law. We had an
entire system for this world, a government system, the bad guy, the two animals that were
always dating or married, and so on. A typical game for us would include, the evil cats trying to

overthrow the rulers with dastardly plans while the brave nights (the dogs) would defend the
kingdom with paintbrush swords and spears. Other games would reflect on our life
circumstances. Such as the time we moved out of our house (the beanies all had to move from
their homes in this game). Also, whenever we had a school play, we would cast each of our
animals as the characters from this play, and reenact the entire thing with them.
Contrary to the happy bliss during these games, my brother and I had a very rough
relationship in reality. As we got older the struggle only became more intense. There were many
times when the two of us were nearly at each others throats. He knew exactly what to say to
say to stir me up and where to hit every sore nerve. Nearly every fight we had ended in
slammed doors and yells of I hate you! and the horrible thing was that I meant it. I remember
truly hating his guts a lot of the time.
As the years passed, we continued to grow apart. We played games together less and
less. Although we still shared a bond, it was strained under the constant turmoil of our
relationship. I never wanted to feel angry at my brother, but every time I tried to be mature and
rise above his actions, he would always end up baiting me back into an argument. Through the
teenage years of our lives, we still drifted apart, and I began to wonder if we would ever be able
to repair a relationship damaged by years of frustration and pain. I was at a different point in my
life at this time, and I was ready to forgive and move on, but that didnt mean that I wasnt still
carrying anger with me. As time went on, we stopped playing beanies as well. He asked me a
few times if I would, but it felt so silly to me. I was a teenager and I was too old for childish
games. Everytime I said no, he went away looking downcast, like that special chapter from our
childhood had finally come to a close.
This past summer was the last time he asked me to play with him, to which I politely
declined. How could I justify playing beany babies with my sixteen year old brother? Why did he
even still want to? I shook my head as he left the room. I did not understand him. That same
summer, my brother became very ill. It started out with only with little things. He began losing

weight and became more and more constantly thirsty. My parents assumed he was growing,
and many of our family had skinny genes so that wasnt that unusual. But as the summer days
wore on, his condition worsened. My brother spent more and more time secluded in his
bedroom. His skin became pale and he continued to lose weight. Eventually, he began to see
several doctors, though none of them could seem to diagnose an exact illness to match with the
symptoms.
During this period of his illness, I began to disconnect with him entirely. While I would go
into his dark bedroom once in awhile and attempt conversation, our talks were brief and lasted a
few minutes at best. How are you doing? I would ask and he would answer with a typical not
so great. That August was one of the hardest months for our family. The cheery summer
sunshine did little to improve upon the darkness that hung over us. I had completely stopped
visiting my brothers room, because it was too disturbing to see him so ill. In my mind I was able
to convince myself that things would get better. I persuaded myself that my parents knew how to
help him. I would also listen to music constantly to keep from hearing him being sick in the
bathroom or calling out to my mother in pain.
Finally that awful day came when my dad came into my room in tears and told me they
were taking Adam to the hospital. I watched them load his frail, stick-thin body into the car and
drive away. My ten year old sister came into my room, her eyes sparkling with tears. Is Adam
going to die? she asked me. For the first time the realization that he could die dawned upon
me. I suddenly felt a horrible guilt in my stomach. How could I not have spent more time with
him? Why had we fought about stupid things? Why did I ever say no to playing with him? The
happy memories of childhood games seemed like a century ago in another universe.
I drove my younger siblings to a nearby coffee shop so we could get out of the house for
a bit and we sat there waiting for any word from the hospital. About half an hour passed before
my phone lit up with texts from my mom. She said the doctor diagnosed him as a type 1 diabetic
and that they had him on an insulin pump to heal his body. I told my siblings the news and we

rode home in silence. We knew that our lives would be forever changed by this news, but we
were also so relieved.
The next day I visited Adam in the hospital. He looked pretty bad. His pale skin and
skinny arms protruding out of the dull blue hospital gown. The machine next to him making all
kinds of strange noises as it pumped life fluids into his body. I sat by my parents on the small
camp bed amongst a pile of hospital blankets while nurses came in and gave us information on
his condition. I hated seeing him on that bed, looking like death. More than that, I hated the fact
that I didnt feel more sorry for him. I had completely cut myself off from him the last few weeks
and we had basically no relationship at this point. No matter what, I was determined that when
he came home I would make up for our past problems.
A few days later he was discharged from the hospital with a giant bag of diabetes
supplies, spare insulin and a second chance at life. So much had changed for him since he had
gotten sick that he was truly a different person now and I set about right away to make good on
my promise to right our relationship. In the months since he went into the hospital the two of us
have gotten along better than we had in our entire lives. My other brother even admitted that he
felt jealous of our newfound closeness. Not too long after these events, Adam asked me one
day. Do you think we could play beanies sometime before you go away to college? Just for old
times sake? I laughed and hugged him. You bet, I said.