After twelve long years of losing to my older brother’s experience, I was sitting in my chair on a hot summer day when I heard the heavy footfalls of my graceless older brother coming up the stairs from the basement cave he calls a room. I checked my phone for the time 3:18. Earlier than his usual wake-up time, he must want something. Whenever he moved he drove his heels into the hardwood floors creating a thunderous boom as the sound echoed throughout the house. With the thunderstorm approaching, I mentally readied myself for whatever stupidity he was about to strike me with. Most of the time if I'm playing video games or watching a movie he will stand right behind my chair and try to conjure up the stupidest comment he can muster. Then he promptly leaves after saying it but not on this day. On this day he asked me if I wanted to play something later. I agreed to it while thinking that I would suffer the same defeat as all the other times.

Twenty minutes past the agreed upon time he plodded back up the stairs again. My brother strutted into the room with all of the confidence in the world because he had never lost before. He had the swagger and cockiness of a man who was about to do something impressive or tricky. I knew then and there I had to humble him. He foolishly let me pick the game this time so I chose the newest “Call of Duty” game because I knew he hadn’t played it as much as I. With a week of time under my belt, we picked up the controllers and the game began.

Five seconds into the game I kill him and he begins his rant on exactly why the game sucks and I was getting lucky. While it could be true that I got a lucky game and pure chance was the real reason I absolutely outclassed, outgunned, and left him flattened by the steamroller that is me. In my triumphant glory, I was euphoric. I had beaten my brother at the only thing he was good at but my euphoria was cut down by the words “two outta three. WWII this time.”. My heart sank but there was no way I was going to show my dismay. I was a little concerned about my abilities because Call of Duty World War II is my brother's favorite game for reasons I cannot comprehend and it is my least favorite game because the only way to 1v1 fairly is to leave the weapons used by either person up to pure chance. My assuredness did take a brief setback. I found a renewed faith in the realization that no matter what happens in this game I will surely crush him in the next one.

The only time that the match was close was at the very beginning, right out of the gate it became abundantly clear to me that I wasn’t going to lose. I instantly took control, I began killing him before he could register where the bullets were coming from. My brother went from preparing to demolish me with no remorse to complete and utter shambles. A description of my brother during the next hour could be simplified into two words insecure, and stubborn. Unfortunately for him, those things do not combine well. I spent the next hour pulling my punches because I didn’t want him to feel bad. It was strange because I had never been better than him at something and now that I finally was beating him I felt bad for him. I couldn’t explain it right away because it's supposed to feel good and fulfilling to beat a lifelong opponent. I didn’t figure it out until later that day after my brother sulked back to his cave and I talked to my mom about it.

In my mom's office I asked “how come I felt like I had to show him mercy?” and then my mom said the most enlightening thing I had heard for a long while. She said, “I don't know, but I know he never went easy on you.” I thought about what she said for a second and let it bounce around in my head. I came to the conclusion that my brother had never once taken it easy on me no matter how angry I got because as long as he was having fun it didn't matter. I also concluded that either I was a nice guy or that my brother was definitely not. After that epiphany, I began to think about all of the other inconsiderate things I had ever seen my brother do and for a while, I started thinking that I was a saint compared to this guy. Then I remember he’s five years older than me. I still have all this time to follow in his footsteps and I already have a good head start on him without noticing.

The more I thought about it the stupider I felt. I have been bashing this guy my whole life while doing exactly what he did when I was his age. He may have been meaner and worse at school but he wasn’t much different than me. I made a decision that day to make sure I didn’t end up like him because in front of me I had two paths: a steep treacherous rocky slide into a cave or a bright waving meadow of tall healthy grass leading to everywhere other than my parent's basement. The rockslide would be an easy path to follow straight down and quick but it's going to hurt and I won’t ever get out. The meadow serene as it seems would be the harder path. Creating a brand new path through the thick and thin all the while knocking bloodsucking bugs off my legs as I part the blades into a successful life. I think of a poem by Robert Frost. I know the memory of it is wrong but it's how I thought it went “Two roads diverged into the woods, and I took the road less traveled by and it has made all the difference.”.