So tonight was interesting, to put it mildly. The kids and everyone had gone to bed, so I was out on the front porch calling a friend back. I wasn’t out there long when my mother comes rushing out the front door with my oldest niece’s softball equipment bag and tells—not asks—me to get in the car. So, I did and she peels out of the driveway and I ask her what the heck is up and she tells me. Apparently my brother was drunk again and decided he was going to fight a bunch of guys at this dive bar in one of the neighboring towns. So she’s speeding down there and is telling me to get the bat out of the bag—to which I of course was like hell no. I’m not an idiot. I know damn well that if you hit someone with a bat it’s assault with a deadly weapon. And its one thing to defend yourself…it’s something entirely different if you bring the damn bat to the scene with you. But of course, my mother doesn’t think of these things…and to put it bluntly, doesn’t give a damn.
Anyhow, so we get there and I guess the other guys had taken off or whatever—I don’t really care—but my brother’s standing outside the bar, shirtless and drunk and ranting as per usual. My mother brings him over and has him get in the car to go home, and of course he didn’t want to go home. He wanted to go back to the bar, so he was being mouthy in the backseat. Once we got on the highway, he said something to which I replied—god, I don’t even know what I said, but he took offense to it and being the dumbass belligerent drunk that he is—he decided to open the door while the car was still moving and try to jump out. My mother barely brought the car to a stop before he got out…barely. He then took off staggering down the middle of the highway, back the way we came. Since there was a concrete median, we had to drive a couple miles ahead to turn around and then do a U-turn to head back to find him. As we’re doing that, my mother’s bitching at me for not keeping my mouth shut—like it’s my fault that he’s unreasonable and drunk as hell (not to mention, she was the one that demanded I go in the first place!)—and calling 911 for help.
It was a fucking disaster—if you can imagine. I mean, its pitch dark, on a highway. He’s walking in the middle of the road, right into oncoming traffic going Eastbound, and we’re following on the other side of the median in the passing lane going Westbound, my mother trying to talk to 911 and pleading with my brother out the window to get in the damn car. It was ridiculous. Then she just stops the car, throws it into park, tosses the phone at me and gets out. She climbed over the median and went after my brother, who decided to take off down into the steep, wooded ravine that borders the highway—leaving me to deal with the 911 operator and meet up with cops to show them where they were. Once we got there and pulled off, we found them, basically crawling back up the steep ravine—which is pretty much like a 30 or 40 foot drop. Once my mother got almost to the top, me and one of the officers helped her up the rest of the way, and then my brother took off again back down the ravine, refusing to come out—despite the officers assurances that they weren’t going to arrest him.
He finally came up like 15 minutes later, running his mouth at the cops as usual instead of shutting the hell up like we kept telling him to. He never, ever learns. You’d think after all the run-ins he’s had with the police and all the times he’s been arrested—hell, he’s still got the 4 inch scar on his forehead from the vicious beating they gave him during one of those run-ins when they cracked his head open with their nightstick—that he’d learn—but no. So anyhow, he’s going on and on and cussing them out—turns out the same cops had run into him a few hours earlier and they’d had a few words outside the bar where we’d picked him up. He got into the backseat of the car and everything seemed fine until the state police showed up and the one officer comes walking over and opens the door and tells my brother to get out and put his hands behind his back. Ohhhh that didn’t go over to well. Everyone flipped. My brother flipped because the other cops had said they weren’t going to arrest him. My mother went after one of the officers and I had to pull her back or she would have gotten arrested for assaulting a police officer…it was a disaster. The trooper tried to defuse the situation when he put my brother in handcuffs and had him sit down on the guardrail and told him he wasn’t arresting him, that he was just detaining him while he asked him and my mother a few questions. Oh, my brother wasn’t having any of that. He went off the handle on the two local cops that were holding him back and cussing them up and down and essentially giving them more than enough cause to get him for drunk and disorderly. I tried to get him to calm down and shut up or he WOULD get arrested—nothing worked—he eventually got pissed and got in my face and threatened me, so the one cop stepped between us and told me to go and sit in the car, for my safety. I mean, really? He was cuffed, what was he going to do? But anyhow.
Ultimately, after what seemed like forever, and once we assured the officers that we didn’t think he was going to harm anyone else or himself—after all, he had jumped out of the car while it was still moving, so they technically could have taken him in on a 5150 hold. And for those of you that aren’t familiar with a 5150, it’s a statute that essentially gives the police the right to transport you against your will if need be (that is, if they feel you’re a threat to yourself or others), to the nearest hospital to be evaluated and involuntarily admitted on a psych hold for a minimum of 72 hours. After, they finally uncuffed him and let us go. Of course, the second the doors were close he started his whole “I could take ‘em all, screw them” ego tirade. He’s all talk. Drunk or not.
He’s currently sleeping it off it the room next to mine. And tomorrow, no one will talk of it and life will go on as if nothing ever happened. As per the usual with him and incidents such as these. Which, in my opinion, is total bullshit. They think they’re helping him…and they’re not. They’re enabling him. He’s 32 years old and what does he have to show for it? He has no job. No car. He lost his license after his little DWI stunt some years back when he drove my grandmother’s car into a parked semi-trailer—and nearly got himself killed in the process, I might add. He’s got three kids that he doesn’t pay a cent of child support towards. And all he does is drink and party and get high. And they allow it. It’s total crap. He needs a rude awakening. He needs to grow the hell up. I don’t care what his problems are. Hell, we all got problems. But do we get go out every night and drown our souls in a bottle of Jack Daniels? Nope. He needs to suck it up like the rest of us and start taking responsibility for his actions. He’s got kids, damn it. They shouldn’t have to see this or hear about it. This shouldn’t be their reality or their norm. If it’s rehab he needs, then that’s where he needs to go. But this crap of letting him continue what he’s doing…it’s for the birds. If it takes the cops having to arrest him on a psych hold to push him to do what needs to be done—then so be it. I’m sick of standing by and watching. He’s my brother and while he’s done a lot of shit that I don’t like and can be cruel as hell when he wants to be, I still love him. I still care what happens to him. And this path he’s going down…it’s a dead end. It leads nowhere—at least nowhere good. Even if he doesn’t want it for himself…his kids deserve better. That alone, should be all the incentive he needs. You would think.