Building Character

I don't have any time to write a good post, so i thought I would share a paper I wrote for English. I enjoyed writing it, and I thought someone might enjoy reading it. The assignment was that we write a cause/effect paper. (i.e. tell about some event(s) that changed our life). Well, here it goes:


I’ll never forget the cold January day I found myself standing on top of the monkey bars looking down at a pile of snow. James was nearby egging me on, “Jump Meredith, Jump. I’ve done it; it’s fun!” To me the monkey bars were already high off the ground. Add an extra three and a half feet from my toes to my head, and I was practically attempting to jump off Mt Everest. The wind whipped my face as I debated whether or not to take the plunge. With a final prayer I leapt to my certain death. I don’t remember the fall, but I remember my surprise when I found my nose filled with snow; I had face-planted into the pile.

Thinking back to that day brings to mind hundreds of other stories. Back then my three older brothers were the heroes and the villains of my life. Everything they did, whether it was telling me tall tales or tossing me about like a beach ball in the pool, was what they termed “character building.” Whenever their teasing went too far or their noses grew too long from their lies, they would smile serenely and simply say, “Meredith, we’re building character.” If that answer didn’t satisfy me, they would launch into a long explanation about brotherly duty and some contracts they had to sign when I was born. Years later, I realized these contracts were fictional. (Hospitals do not require older siblings to sign contracts solemnly pledging to make their sister’s life difficult with the ultimate goal of building strong character.) What amazes me most, however, is how good they were at what they did. I don’t have many memories of them working together against me; it was all independent. Even though their approaches were different, their goals were the same, and together they successfully pushed every button and found every pet peeve. I still marvel at their skill.

Daniel, my eldest older brother, is ten years my senior. With this much of an age gap, his favorite things usually involved me being tossed into the air. Around him, I felt like I could reach the clouds. My small size did have disadvantages, however. For instance, I was the perfect height for my head to act as an arm rest. Not only that, but there was no way my tiny legs could out run him. If he was determined to catch me, I could do nothing about it but try and fight back. That did not work well either because he would simply place a hand on my head and push me back so that my flailing arms could not reach them. I remember one day, Daniel was successfully staving me off with that technique. For a few minutes I persisted in my fruitless attacks, but stopped when a brilliant plan hit me. I thought to myself, Why am I trying to hit his body? I should go for the arm. With that plan, I began to hammer away at the hand that held me at bay. The surprise on his face marked one of the few victories I have had against Daniel.

James, my middle older brother, took his responsibility as a brother very seriously. In particular, he saw my need to toughen up, so his techniques for character building often revolved around talking me into doing stupid things like jumping off the monkey bars. James was also the brother who convinced me to let him tape me into a box. I remember climbing into the box. It seemed huge at the time, and I had no idea what James had in mind. As he shut the lid, I caught a last glimpse of his face. It was then that I realized, whatever the game we were about to play, I was sure to not like it. I nestled further into the bottom of the box, bracing myself for whatever came next. Suddenly I felt my feet fly up over my head. I was spinning like clothes in a dryer. Over and over I spun, losing all sense of direction. After countless squeals of protest, James let me out. I tumbled out of the box, thankful for solid ground. Everything James did pushed me to my limit. I had to be careful walking around the house. I would pass innocent blankets on the floor, and before I could react, James would have leapt up with a great cry of “Blanket Monster!” and I would be dangling in the air.

With three older brothers constantly testing my reflexes, I was a rather twitchy, jumpy child. Like most children, my imagination played host to the classic monsters that hid in the dark, the closet, or the toilet. All of those were easy to get rid of, but the monster in the faucet posed a challenge. To avoid him I would soap up my hands before turning on the water. That way when he came rushing out with the water I would burn his eyes, and successfully blind him. The monster that inhabited the cold regions of the bed was also difficult to overcome. It was actually James who helped me with that one. One night I came to him in tears, terrified, of the floating head in my bed. Like the hero he was he followed me back to my room to scare the monster off. Not only did he successfully get rid of him that night, but he filled me in on tips to get rid of him tomorrow night. He advised me to take all my stuffed animals and make a ring of them around me, where I slept. He told me that they would act as sentinels to fight off any nightly terrors. James was definitely a hero that night, despite his villainous activities of that day.

Last of all, Duff, my youngest older brother, is six years older than me. He honed my debate skills and tested my gullibility daily. (When I was seven, Duff could have convinced me that the sky was purple.) Being a curious child, I was always asking how machines worked. Whether it was a can opener or a car, I wanted to know. One afternoon I was standing near the computer as Duff wrote a paper. As fascinating as it was to watch his hands fly over the keyboard, I was beginning to get board. Soon enough the printer caught my eye. It was such a mysterious machine, and I had not yet asked how it worked, so turning to my all-knowing brother Duff I asked, “What makes a printer print; I mean how does it know what to write down?” Duff’s face clouded over with the typical how-am-I-going-to-explain-this expression and then cleared. “Gnomes,” he said. “Gnomes?” I asked my eyes wide with wonder. With sage-like grace he solemnly said, “It’s true. Gnomes make the printer work.” I could not quite grasp the concept, so I persisted in my questions, “But how?” At this point Duff leaned back in his chair. I always knew he was about to say something important when he did this. He cleared his throat and began, “Well, you see, Meredith, hundreds of gnomes live in that printer. When I press the ‘print’ button on the computer screen, it sends an image of what I want printed to the gnomes. As soon as they get the image they dip their feet in shallow pools of ink and begin running across the paper, carefully transcribing every word of my document.” Duff paused, and I took the brief interlude to let out a knowing “Aaaahhh.” Suddenly his face got serious, “There is something else you should know Meredith. When the ink in the printer is ‘running out,’ it actually means the gnomes are dying.” This news hit me hard, “Why that’s awful!” I exclaimed, my little heart about to break, “How can we let this happen?” Duff simply shrugged.

Despite my brothers’ constant pestering, I pointedly sought out their company. Maybe they were not far off when they said they were building character. Whatever their reasons for teasing, I loved them anyways. Our relationship, like any good mafia movie, had unwritten codes. While they could tease me till I pulled out my hair, if anyone so much as looked at me funny, they would pull out his hair. They were three big bears, always protecting me. I was the pestering little sister, but I was also the princess. They were Batmen, but also Jokers; heroes and villains all in one. To this day, they still try to pull my leg whenever possible, but for the most part, they usually play the part of superman. I’ve sometimes regretted not having a younger sibling of my own. With such rich examples to draw from, I find myself wanting to pass on games of blanket monster or tales of printer gnomes. With no one to turn to, I use my best friend’s little sister as a stand-in. As I explain to her the various jobs of gnomes, I see her eyes grow big in wonder. When she discovers the truth behind my lies, I greet her angry stare like my brothers would have and say, “I’m building your character.”