Folly Overuse

Steve, my brother, is two years older than me. When I turned nine, my family bought a new computer. Since then, playing computer games became Steve's one and only hobby. When he came back home from school, he sat in front of the screen and hit keyboards until he went to sleep over twelve.

I could sense that mom hit the ceiling when I sat at the dinner table one day. She called Steve more than three tines, but he kept playing in his room. She called again. I noticed her voice grew sharper, but only silence came through the door in reply. It seemed like he built an imaginary brick wall around him to pretend that she was not there. Mom untied her red apron and went into his room. Oops. Now he was in big trouble.

She came back to the kitchen with Steve following her from behind, grunting. Then, she turned around, held up a CD in her hand, and broke it into precisely two pieces. The cracking sound filled up the room, soon making the whole house deadly quiet. Steve stood still with his mouth open wide. I did exactly the same.

After what felt like millions of years, mom pointed at Steve's school bag in the corner and said to me. "David. I want you to throw out your brother's bag. Throw it away in the big garbage bin outside the apartment. Otherwise, I'll throw out yours." Steve started to cry. I picked up the bag and ran for the door as fast as I could. I didn't want to look at my brother crying. I just couldn't.

The outside was already dark with only few streetlights greeting me. "She is overreacting. How can she be so cruel?" I thought as I walked helplessly towards the bin. When I arrived, I wavered. I clearly remembered what she told me to do, but I could not easily do it. After a moment of hesitation, I put the bag next to the bin, and hurried back home.

Mom was doing the dishes in the kitchen when I came back. I could hear Steve trying to stop crying, but his efforts were all in vain. Since mom completely ignored my existence, I headed to where my brother was sobbing. He was lying on his bed with his face buried in the pillow. I sat next to him to pat his back. "She won't be mad for long," I said in the most comforting voice I could make, but it proved to have no positive effects whatsoever. I suddenly felt incompetent.

A few minutes later, mom called both of us from the living room. We sat around the table, facing each other. Mom took a deep breath as if trying to control her shaking lips. Then, she opened her mouth. "I'm really sorry Steve……. And you too, David……. I didn't want to do it, but I had to... for you." She burst into tears as she finished talking. Something hot was coming out from my eyes. Soon, I found all three of us were crying together.

When I often bring up the memory of the incident, we all start laughing, wondering why each of us had to be so upset. In retrospect, mom did it not only for Steve, but also for me, dad, and herself. She chose to be a mean devil in order to maintain a peaceful family.