When my Dad picked my brother and me up from the airport on Saturday, he said, “Kids, let’s make this year different”. I don’t know what is says about my family that my brother and I knew exactly what he was talking about: Let us try and be civil this year. He continued to say that my older brother and I needed to be the “bigger person” in any argument. He told us that my little brother was armed and ready to incite WWIII. We would need to be prepared to deflect all verbal projectiles aimed our way.
For the past 19 years, I have always engaged in the battles. I would suit up and not back down until I emerged victorious.
This year, I decided that I was going to show my family Reid 2.0—the mature college girl who has become uber tolerant, socially savvy, and above all conflict.
So, that night when we went to dinner, I was ready. I covered all my open nerves and put a guard over all my buttons. Five minutes into dinner, my little brother started warming up. He brought up ex-boyfriends, my high school mess ups, and started spewing ignorant and baseless “facts” that usually make me snap.
I bit my tongue, complimented his successes, and basically threw him on his heels. When we finished dinner, I had remained a non-combatant, and at the very least a moral victor. I had done what my parents always told me to do growing up: don’t give him a reaction, and it was working. I could see that my little brother’s skin was crawling because he could not get to me. Ha. Reid: 1, Little Brother:0
The next day went the same way. All his shots were deflected, and so my family had gone more than 24 hours in harmony. Monday: still harmonious. The tally was now up to more than 48 hours. Reid: 3, Little Brother: 0
At hour 62, things got fragile. We had just returned from my mother’s birthday dinner and were all eating cake in the kitchen. I was mindlessly scrolling through my Instragram feed when I heard the explosion. My mild mannered, aspiring pastor older brother has lost it. My little brother had finally broken him and was adding fuel to the fire. It was getting louder and louder and my parents were yelling from brother to brother trying to get one to raise the white flag. At this point, I had locked my phone and was trying to hold myself back…but it was too tempting. So I rolled up my sleeves and suited up. This meant war. I was back to Reid 1.0, and my little brother had gotten points on the board. Reid: 3. Little Brother:1.
As my older brother stormed out of the room and the shots per minute abated, the rest of us looked at each other. Well, “that was a family record. Let’s aim for 72 hours next year”, I said with a smile.