Jesus, My Perfect Older Brother

Bailey Froese

Dear Diary, I can’t stand it anymore. This kid is driving me up the walls. I can’t seem to do anything right in this house, but do you think he does anything wrong? NO. He’s just Mr. Perfect all the time, at least when people are watching. I’ll bet he does horrible things when no one is looking, like animal cruelty or arson or blasphemy or something.

Ugh. Stupid Jesus. Stupid, perfect Jesus. Why is he so weird?

Mom and Dad practically worship him, of course. Whenever I ask what’s wrong with him, Mom just gets this weird look on her face and says that Jesus is a “very special boy”. Yeah, well, the Rabbi called me that too when I had to repeat the third grade, but no one gets all misty-eyed about me. She’s totally weird too; I’ve heard the rumours. I’ve heard something about a very early pregnancy and her blaming it on “immaculate conception” or some garbage. Uh-huh, no one called it “immaculate” when it happened to Hannah next door (rest her soul; they stoned her for that, I still remember her ex-boyfriend’s screams of “I love the patriarchy!”). Anyway, why the heck is Jesus so special? Is it because he was born in a stable?! Mom and Dad love to bring that up on his birthday, by the way. They tell the whole story every year. We get it, Mom, some shepherds came over. They were probably just wondering what the screaming was about.

Jesus doesn’t even act mad when I bring this up. He just says something weird like, “Be not afraid, all shall be revealed according to the Father’s will”. Ugh, shut up, Jesus. Not everything you say has to sound all profound and pretentious all the time. Mom and Dad just eat that stuff up. I mean, last year he ditched us during the Passover Festival, and I thought, oh boy, Jesus is really going to get it this time, but he didn’t?! Because he was talking to some teachers?! Okay, go off, Jesus, you went to Temple. Anyone can do that. The way people treat him, you’d think he was the Messiah or something. Please. I’ve seen him pee in the river like anyone else. You think the Messiah pees in the river? Of course not.

Ugh, I feel gross. I’ve got the squirts like you wouldn’t believe, probably because I accidentally drank from the pee river. Jesus probably didn’t, he was probably too busy pulling someone’s sheep out of a well or something. I just can’t -

Oh wait, I feel a lot better now. Not sure why. I know Jesus just came in here to give me a hug. Why does he do stuff like that? He knows I hate him, why is he so sweet all the time? Why does he always look at me like, like . . .

Like I’m special too.

I probably shouldn’t keep hogging the chamber pot. James needs it too from drinking from the pee river with me. I think I’ll get some sleep. It’s weird. I feel all cozy right now, like I’m still being hugged. Like all the dark and scary shreds inside are closing up. Like I’m not bad and stupid and unloveable after all.

This house is weird. This family is weird. Everything is weird.