My Brother Got His Jordans Stolen—Which Is Exactly Why We Don’t Get Along

Growing up, it wouldn’t have been me

As the oldest child in my family, building a relationship with my siblings has always been a challenge. I carry the responsibility of setting the example and often have to switch between the roles of brother and disciplinarian. Admittedly, playing both means younger family members waver between loving me as their older brother and disliking me when I have to set them straight. It’s a balance they don’t always understand and seldom enjoy.

Still, I’ve built a better bond with some of my siblings more than others. I have markedly better relationships with the ones I grew up with — my 26-year-old brother, Oniel, and my 24-year-old sister, Genea — than I do with my mother’s “second set” of children, my 16-year-old brother, Sean, and 14-year-old twins, Jordyn and Jadyn.

Whether it’s the generational gap or the fact I haven’t lived at home for the majority of their lives, I consistently bump heads with the teen set. I love them even when I don’t like them. But a recent story encapsulates the fragility of our undeveloped relationship.

Some background on my mother: She’s a yeller who’s prone to anxiety. I can’t remember a time when she wasn’t hollering or worrying about one thing or another…