My brother always used to be some kind of a nerd. I clearly remember him sitting on the playground, no idea where our guardians had gone to, while he, calm as one can be, grabbed for the pebbles that the wind, over all the years our family had owned that house and the surrounding garden, had carried to our sand-pit. He not only grabbed them but also ate them. I myself was in the age of about four or five at that time, and as a long time has passed up to now one should not argue about me having forgotten what exactly happened when my parents discovered him, preferring to feed himself with this filthy earth instead of the GDR-kind of Hipp neonates grew up with in the past days. Eating stuff that ruins your health is probably not that weird, a lot of people do love Burger King. But my brother did a lot of sick things, and having left home as early as possible to study far away from this dangerous and creepy creature was the best thing I could have done to save my life.

Not having moved away surely would have entirely spoiled my savour. I am almost too humiliated to talk about it freely, but that alien person, whom my parents said about was their child and thus my brother had a strange attitude not only towards what he ate but also to the movies he used to watch. I think he was about three and a half when for the first time he forced the whole family, crying as loud as a whole bunch of queers singing along the Christopher Street on a gay-pride week, to stick to the TV-screen on a Sunday evening, watching Lindenstraße. Remember: I am not talking about my 85-year old little sister but about my so-called little brother. After he had made us watch episode I of that scary movie we had dinner with Mutter Beimer every weekend. A long time later, by the time Hans and Helga got divorced, I almost could not handle life anymore, and moved away, hoping I could put out of sight that cultureless time of my past, so that the other students would not notice?

Moving into a flat that I share with 7 other students, none of them willing to graduate within the first 14 terms, everyone addicted to another striking drug of choice, for the first time in my life made me get in touch with ordinary and average people. Of course one might argue now that smoking weed, singing the cocaine blues and spending 7 years at campus until one starts to think about whether the time has come to take part in some kind of intermediate examination is neither standard nor expected, but my roommates truly never behave that strange than my brother did. While all of the guys I met in Golm are that hard up that they do a lot to get into every possible psychedelic experiment to earn at least the money needed to finance a single joint, my brother had his first subscription ticket to a psychologist in the age of four, shortly after he had gone to prison for the first time for blowing up the neighbours house because he needed some space to copy the inventory of the ?Lindenstraßen?-scenery. I wish my mum was an alcoholic or my dad had turned out to be gay in front of my schoolmates, but instead I had to share a room and, in earlier days even the weekly bathtub with that charming infant.


[der kleinePUNK scheint tot, daher dieser Erinnerungseintrag … ]

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