You do not currently have permission to view the full text for this document. Please sign in to an account with an active subscription or contact support.
When I was Seven Years Old, I was seen as quite heroic by my four-year-old brother. He followed me around and, in general, proved to be a colossal pain in the neck. I did, nonetheless, always seek him out when the puppet show Rootie Kazootie appeared on our newly acquired television set. We watched happily until the caped villain, Poison Zumac, his mustache ominously curled, peeked out from the right side of the TV screen. My brother would shriek with fear and run to the comfort of our mother. I would charge after him and calmly explain that there was nothing to fear, because Poison Zumac was merely a puppet. I did not return to the show until I had gently coaxed him back.
My professed ability to recognize the difference between reality and make-believe undoubtedly enhanced my already idealized status. Some twenty years later, when my brother and I were reminiscing about this and other childhood experiences, he was stunned as I confessed that I followed him out of the room because I was terrified of being left alone with Poison Zumac.
In my role of older brother I felt safe and unafraid as long as my younger brother was in the room. I enjoyed both the TV program and my revered position. My fragile feeling of security was clearly tied to my dependence on my brother's presence. His fragile sense of safety was linked to his dependence on me.
From an interpersonal perspective, I carried the autonomy while my younger brother carried the dependence for the dyad. The balance was quickly altered once the “dependent” partner left the scene. Because my sense of esteem relied on his need to be comforted, I did not help him master his anxiety. That would have shifted our dynamic.