My brother Charlie

 Charles William, is 14 months younger than me. We shared a tiny room in the Bronx. He was a good brother. He was also my mother's favorite. We were close, I was closer to him than even my sisters.

He started drinking as a teen and that is what destroyed him. He is an alcoholic. He had no self confidence, low self esteem.

He had black outs, when he drank. He could not hold a job. My father wanted to throw him out a few times but my mother would never let him. 

When Charlie was maybe about 11 a bully kid was picking on a younger boy. Charlie went up to the bully and told him to pick on him, his own size, and leave the little kid alone. My mother saw this from the window and never forgot it.

He married a drug addict, they were together a couple of years before separating. She died. 

I could never let him live on the streets. My mother would have turned in her grave. So on and off, most of my life, he lived with me.

When Charlie was good, he was very good, when he was bad, he was awful.

He was not allowed to drink when he stayed with me, he had to stay with a friend.  He went to rehab a few times. He would "date" low life street women which made him feel superior. When he did have a girlfriend, he became obsessed with her. That's all he cared about.

As much as I loved him, I could not deal with him any more. The only way to get rid of him was to move away. That's when I moved to Gulfport. Not just to get rid of him but to be with Agnes and Grace and Liam eventually. 

He met a women in the classified section of the paper and moved in with her.  A black woman, with kids who lived in the projects, so he could feel superior to her and them.

He stayed there many years before he went to the hospital for a fall and is still in there to this day. If he ever gets out I think he will be dead in a few  months.

He is 72 and still thinks like a 17 year old.

Like most alcoholics he is self centered. He keeps trying for the life he wants, to get out of there and have his own place. I hope he gets it. 

A favorite memory...

We slept in the back bed room for awhile when we were young. In bunk beds, I slept on the top bunk.

I had found out there was no Santa Claus. I was sad and I did not want Charlie to find that out yet.  On Christmas Eve or when we woke in the middle of the night, when we were in bed I told him this story about how I looked out the window and saw Santa in the sky and how I tried to go to back to sleep before Santa came here. He was so excited....sigh