Red-envelope cop

During one of mom’s visits, she brought me a selection of old photos.  Among them was a picture of my little brother dressed in white dress shirt, vest and a bow tie.  He was standing proudly at attention and armed with toy guns and swords.

Even as a child, I was always wary of everyone and everything.  My little brother, on the other hand, was a trusting soul.  He would believe anything any adults told him.  He learned that cops were the good guys that protected common folks.  He also heard that cops took red envelopes.  Since we got red envelopes with New Year’s money, he believed it was a good thing, not knowing they were a euphemism for bribes.

A neighbor lady asked him what he aspired to be when he grew up.  He replied: “To be a cop.”  When pressed for the reason, he said: “Cops get red envelopes.”  For a while, “red-envelope cop” became his nickname.

We didn’t grow up with sweets around the house.  Instead, seasonal fruits were always in the pantry.  In those days, mangos were not much larger than a baseball.  Covered in dark green peels, they didn’t look very appealing.  Even though they were extremely sweet and fragrant, there wasn’t much between the skin and the seed.  One basically held the entire fruit and gnawed on and around the core.  When Little Cop had his first taste of mango, he looked at mom: “This is good eating.  Why is there a big stone in this fruit?”  Sadly, the native Taiwanese mangos had gone extinct, replaced by the new, more attractive looking varieties.

Big watermelons were our summer time favorite.  They are sweet and juicy.  Mom taught us how to not make a mess eating them.  The seeds—hundreds of them, black and fat—were troublesome.  We told Little Cop that, if he wasn’t careful and swallowed melon seeds, little plants would start growing in his tummy.  He worried for days.  I might have made my parents proud.  Little Cop brought joy to the family.

He was smart but didn’t like to study.  He was artistic:  He took painting instructions.  There were photos of him sketching outdoors with his art class: Holding the paint brush steadily, he focused on the drawing intensely.  Once he won the top prize of a television painting contest hosted by his teacher.  He practiced calligraphy for several years under the guidance of an old gentleman.  In his high school years, he picked up photography and was very serious about it.

Using the term “sibling rivalry” to describe the relationship between us would seem superficial.  Little Cop was a sweet talker.  When we got in trouble, he knew exactly what to say so mom would calm down.  It only made me more rebellion when he got off easily.

He had a security blanket—”Dǐdǐ” (little brother)—which he dragged around all day long and couldn’t sleep without it.  He was stronger than me physically.  Several times, when I lost the fights hopelessly, I drowned the blanket in bathtub to punish him.  For as long as it would take for the blanket to dry, he would be reminded of his “mistake.”  Then, of course, it would take a few days, for Dǐdǐ to “smell good” again.

He was jealous of me.  To him, mom and dad were always more attentive to my needs.  Whatever I got, he would need to have something in equal value.  I was jealous of him.  Mom and dad allowed him to play all day.  They were always smiley around him.  We fought physically and verbally until life took us apart.

Little Cop discovered computer when he was in high school.  He asked for the top model with the most memory capacity and speed. . . (We are talking about the first generation of personal computers.)  He locked himself in his room for hours on end.  The restrictive college entrance exam system and the limited school choices during the marshal-law era prevented him from studying “electrical engineering” (remember those terms?).  But his self-taught programming skills led him to a successful career in information technology.

In the last decade, mom became less and less independent, first because of her bad knee, then her decreasing mental ability.  With me being on the other side of the ocean, Little Cop picked up the responsibility of caring for her.  Nowadays, everyone calls him Robert.