Growing up, I had my brother and a cousin beside me.
They were four and eight years ahead.
Which meant I spent a good part of my childhood being the perfect target for casual violence.
Punches to the arm.
Headlocks out of nowhere.
The occasional humiliation delivered with the precision only older boys seem to possess.
At the time it felt unfair.
Looking back, it was a privilege.
They pulled me into a world I would have discovered much later on my own.
Queen and Iron Maiden blasting through cheap speakers.
Music that felt bigger than the room we were in.
They taught me chess.
Games of strategy.
How to think a few moves ahead before I even knew that was a skill.
And one night they handed me a drink.
Some strange mixture of liquor, condensed milk and cordial.
I must have been thirteen.
It tasted better than it should have.
I drank more than I should have.
The walk home was about twenty minutes.
I remember feeling lighter than usual.
Like gravity had taken the night off.
I didn’t know it then, but moments like that do something to you.
People ahead of you open doors you don’t even know exist yet.
They expand the map.
Progress in life rarely happens alone.
Someone usually walks the road before you.
And I was lucky enough to have the two of them.
Even if they beat the shit out of me along the way.