Our Siblings are the Original Influencers
My brother was born in 1977 in San Francisco and is ten years older me. With my father mostly out of the house during my childhood, my brother- Monroe Damien King-helped my mom out tremendously in the raising and caring for me. My brother went on to Columbia University before transferring to UC Berkeley and graduating with an Art History degree. He overcame ridiculous obstacles and has invisible scars to prove it. You see, just because someone doesn’t have a limp or a visible, tangible diagnosis, does not mean they aren’t going through something. And, to be real, we ALL go through something at some time. But back to your Uncle Money…
Uncle Money and nana moved to East Oakland in 1980 so, suffice to say, they had a front-row view of the crack epidemic and Reganomics. When I arrived in ’87, I took comfort in knowing that there was another Black and Jewish person further along the path I was going down. In fact, because he was doing it first, I was able to benefit from the knowledge and experience he gave me. Without much navigation to guide him, Uncle Money did a great job of illuminating his path through private school and the streets of Oakland. At the age of nine, he witnessed the funeral procession of Felix Mitchell in Oakland and six months later was helping change my diaper and rock me back to sleep while working on his long division and state capital project.
My brother was my hero. I wanted to be the exact same height as him (6'6"). I wanted to have the same number on my basketball jersey that he did (20). I wanted that same car he had (1968 Mercury Cougar). My brother was (and still is) hella cool and I had a great sense of pride and respect for him because of it. But those tangible things which made him cool and I wanted to emulate were nothing to how he helped me develop and was the positive role model to compliment my mom. The things I remember about my brother are these objects and shiny things which caught my attention as a six and eight year old and what form my concrete memories now. But, when I hear the stories and look at the old photographs, I see that Monroe was a hella cool older brother because he loved me. Because he was there for me. He had my back. And that helped mom out and me out.
Being a sibling is a special thing. For there is nobody in the world quite like you and your sibling. You share the same parents and the same blood and family lineage. And with that comes the duty and the privilege of caring and supporting and helping your sibling develop and grow into the world. Your mother and I will always be here for you but there will be times when you need to call upon your brother for help and you shall each be there for the other. The world is tough and the obstacles are plenty but you are not going into it alone.
You have your brother.
