The Teething Incident

When I was younger, I bit my brother.

That sounds far worse than it actually was.

My top teeth had barely begun to grow and my bottom teeth were still stubbornly not there, so I’m sure it hardly hurt, and I was one. Everyone was just a bit feral at one.

We were in a room full of toys and I’d just spent upwards of ten minutes digging a tiny training bike out from under a pile. I was flush with success, happier than anything, when he snatched the bike from my hands, as older brothers do, and took it for himself.

What a bully, right?

I’m sure it looked comical, a stubby-legged toddler chasing after a rather larger toddler on a too-small tiny bike, around and around and around the little room.

I caught him in the end, though, and that’s when I bit him.

Nom.

I don’t bite my annoying sibling anymore, of course. I wish I could, sometimes, but it’s just not socially acceptable for anyone older than two or three to bite humanoid irritants. Besides, I’m sure I’d feel…somewhat…guilty if I ever did bite my brother.

Not guilty enough that I wouldn’t bite him if I could, though.

Because the thing about siblings is that they’re like your built-in human mosquito. They’re always there, the single constant in an ever-changing, ever-growing life, buzzzing and bothering and always prodding at all the buttons you find most annoying, and all I can do is poke him a bit because he’s got absolutely nothing I can prod at!

He always rubs my hair. If he ever stops one day, I’ll know he’s been impersonated. It’s gotten to the point that when he lifts his hand I always automatically duck—the Hair-Scare, I like to call it. But it’s an absolutely horrible sensation, having your hair all messed up like that. Granted, my hair is almost always messy in the first place, but I rather imagine it’s the principle of the matter. Yet when I try to retaliate by doing the same thing, he finds it amusing and never reacts. Do you know how annoying that is?

What a mosquito.

Granted, I’m a bit of a hypocrite because I’m so much more of a mosquito than my brother. I like to think of myself as a sweet, darling, lovely mosquito, but I don’t think those types of mosquitos quite exist. I take solace, though, in the fact that my brother’s the one who ended up with the nickname “bug” while I’m the sweet, lovely “grass.”

…Chinese nicknames are so weird when translated.

Not to say that I don’t love him. I don’t think I could stand disliking someone I’ve lived with for so many years. Plus, he is something of an excellent person. With that said, though, I do wish I can still remember that teething incident. Then, at least I can reminisce about the good, young times when biting one’s brother was adorable and hilarious rather than disturbing.