On Siblings and Shame

Maybe there's something productive about embarrassing the hell out of people you love.

“Are you writing about yourself in the past tense?”

We were in the back seat of the car on a family road trip. I was 17, and I was indeed writing about myself in the past tense.

Back then, it seemed quite clear to me that the natural progression of my life would eventually demand I document my incredible achievements in the form of an intimate memoir. For posterity. It would start with my humble beginnings as a child-genius, and eventually pass through my troubled teenage-years, including those formative days—which I was still very much in the midst of—working as a clerk in a movie store.

I figured I’d get a head start on that chapter. While it was still fresh.

“You are. You’re writing about your job in the past tense. Ben’s writing his life story, everybody.”

This was my sister. She had looked over my shoulder, sized up the situation almost instantly, and then loudly called me out on it. It …