All my life, I dreamed of being in my brothers shoesuntil everything flipped upside down.
My mum fell pregnant with me when she was nineteen. My dad left faster than you could say “nappy change.” He wasnt keen on swapping pints at the pub for parental duties. My grandparents were livid, calling her a disgrace for having a child out of wedlock. Grandad kicked her out, declaring he wouldnt tolerate an “irresponsible daughter” under his roof.
Mum had it rough, but she soldiered on. She signed up for evening classes, landed a job, and scraped by in a tiny student dorm. I grew up independentdoing the shopping, cleaning, and reheating meals while other kids played football. Never complained, though. I was the “man of the house,” even if I was barely tall enough to reach the sink.
Then came Oliver. He won me over with sweets and takeaways, and Mum glowed whenever he was around. Soon, they announced they were getting married and moving into a proper house. I was chuffedfinally, a dad!
At first, life was grand. No more chores, just music and books in my own room. Oliver helped Mum, and she smiled more than ever. Then came the news: a baby brother or sister. Exciting, right? Until Oliver cheerfully informed me my bedroom was being repurposed as the nursery, and Id be relocated to a glorified broom cupboard. Never mind the other spare roomsapparently, the baby needed prime real estate.
Next thing I knew, my stuff was dumped in the shoebox room. Unfair? Absolutely. But I kept mum.
Enter baby Alfie. Cue sleepless nights, school struggles, and Mums constant refrain: *”You should be setting an example! Instead, youre just lazy and embarrassing us!”*
Alfie grew, and I became his unpaid babysitterpushing his pram around the neighbourhood while local lads snickered. Everything was for Alfie. If I asked for trainers? *”Moneys tight, mate.”* I walked him to nursery, fed him, cleaned up. Just waited for him to grow up.
School was a nightmare. Alfie was spoiled rotten, tossing tantrums if I dared correct his homework. Mum always took his side. He hopped from school to school until they stuck him in a posh private one where grades came with a hefty price tag.
I escaped to technical college, studying mechanicsnot my passion, but it got me out. Later, I clawed my way into uni, worked two jobs, and saved every penny for a flat. Eventually, I married.
Alfie? Oliver handed him a flat, but he still lives with Mum and Dad, mooching off rental income.
At a New Years dinner, Alfies girlfriend muttered in the kitchen: *”Youre lucky with Tom. Hardworking, responsible. Why cant Alfie step up? All he does is couch-surf and binge telly.”* My wife chuckled: *”Toms brilliant. Alfies hopelessMums boy through and through.”*
And just like that, it hit me. I was proud. Life had thrown me curveballs, but Id swung back harder. Now? A loving wife, a cheeky daughter, a home of my ownall earned, not handed over. Meanwhile, Alfies still glued to the sofa, Mum defending him like hes the crown jewels.
Turns out, the grass isnt always greener. Sometimes, its just AstroTurf.
