What Brotherhood Means to an Only Child
What Brotherhood Means to an Only Child
written by Conor o long
art by Hailey Kroll
I’ve often been surprised by how people react when they discover I’m an only child. There’s usually an initial shock, the revelation that I’m more visibly well-adjusted than the stereotypical one. Then, a frown forms as they discern my childhood must have been rather lonely. In elementary and middle school, I was the only student who had no siblings. That was a big reason I didn’t have many friends, particularly other male friends. Where I was lacking in friends, or brothers, I made up for with superheroes. After a long day of school, when other kids were roughhousing with their siblings, I was reading the adventures of the Hulk or the X-Men.
Luckily for me, the majority of my idols were also only children: Spider-Man, Batman, Superman, Daredevil, even Ghost Rider (until they revealed he had a secret estranged brother). Through these modern myths, I learned what it meant to be bound to someone beyond blood.
The characters who showed this most were none other than Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent. Regardless of how often writers wanted these characters to face off, there was a history of brotherhood between them. The duo at the center of the series World’s Finest displayed what loyalty can look like for someone who never had siblings to stick up for them. Superman has Kryptonite in his chest? Don’t worry, Batman will carry the incapacitated Kryptonian all the way back to the Batcave to perform surgery. They may not be related, or even the same species, but the two are brothers and would risk anything for each other.
I was raised by these pillars of masculinity (tights and all), and it instilled in me that to care about someone is to be willing to do anything for them, even if it puts you in harm's way. Without real brothers or friends, I struggled with this sense of compassion and love that never had an outlet.
But finally in high school, I met another only child who was in a similar position to me. We found ourselves as social outcasts, finding ways to create art through amateur film or as part of our school’s chorus. Like my heroes, we were both passionate, siblingless, and looking for some solace. For the longest time, we did everything together. We would go on road trips, get tattoos, perform in concerts, explore haunted hospitals, and even traveled the world together.
The August before our junior year of college, we went hitchhiking in Iceland and our friendship was tested the most. Whilst dealing with a last minute mononucleosis diagnosis (on my part) and having to help a driver resecure the underbed of his car in the middle of the highlands, we were bickering like the most elderly couple on the planet. The worst tribulation was when my best friend left his phone in someone’s car after they dropped us off at a campsite. That’s where others would have scolded him; I rushed to the rescue and used Life360 to discover his phone was 18 miles outside the village we were camping in. With no car and no way to contact the driver, we should have given up, but I refused. I proposed that we rent electric scooters, take them on the highway, and ride into the countryside like we could fly. The journey was lengthy and complicated—the scooters died halfway through the trek—but we got his phone back.
It didn’t matter to me how dangerous our quest was, he was the Superman to my Batman, and I knew I had to trek through the sewers in order to get that Kryptonite out of his chest.
Today, he and I are no longer on speaking terms.
Years after our notable hitchhiking quest, we’ve had a falling out. After eight years of friendship and adventures aplenty, we had different definitions of what it meant to be a brother. It’s still rather fresh for me: my living situation has been upended, lines have been drawn amongst our childhood friends, and suddenly it feels like I have my own Kryptonite shaped hole in my chest.
Comics taught me a lot about love, but they didn’t teach me how to accept that kind of rejection from someone I’ve shared so much history with. Life’s not a comic book, we can’t feud one issue and then fight side by side in the next.
If I had siblings, like those I clashed with growing up, perhaps I’d have been taught how to forgive him. I’ve always wanted to be a brother, and for eight years I was. Now I’m alone again. I may not want to be, but for now I have to press forward.
I think that’s what everyone fails to understand about Batman. He doesn’t work alone by choice, in fact any chance he gets he leans on his butler or one of his many Robins. He works alone because sometimes you just have to.
One day I’ll find my Superman, but for now, I work alone.