For the past couple of years my younger brother has been trying to get me to sell him my Kawasaki Ninja 250 R. Every time he’s brought it up I cringe a little. He’s not a bad driver. In fact, he drive’s like Morgan Freeman in Driving Miss Daisy. So why is it so hard for me to support him getting his license? I feel like this makes me a hypocrite.
The reason is pretty simple. My brother is 28 years old, balding and stands over 6 foot. But in my mind he’s still this kid I practically helped raise.
My father passed away in 89 when I was five years old. You grow up fast when tragedy strikes. I’m the oldest of three kids. It’s my job to look out for them. My brother is the baby of the family, he could be 90 and I’d still think of him as that chubby, curly haired kid running around the yard in his tighty-whities.
If anything happened to him I would never be able to live with myself. Let alone look my mother in the eye again. Yes, I know it would not be my fault but my mind refuses to be reasonable about this. I think when you’ve endured the loss of someone integral to your life it affects you in many ways. Sometimes that shit jumps out of nowhere. For me, this is just one of those side effects that creep up on you that you didn’t even know was lurking in the shadows.
Against my better judgement I have been allowing him to make payments with the stipulation that I won’t hand it over until he takes the MSF course. It gives me a little peace of mind.