The stories about my brother are based on my memories, conversations with him, and things my family has told me.
The unruly sixth graders line up for an assembly. My brother Isaac sticks out like a sore thumb—his yellow skin in a sea of black and brown kids. He’s practically the only Asian kid in this junior high who isn’t in ESL (English as a Second Language).
Unsure of himself, he tries to stand still behind the other students, as they wait to enter the assembly hall. The chaos of so many kids gathered in one place makes him nervous and he shakes his head more vigorously than usual. The movements are swift like he’s saying no to an imaginary friend.
The ticks have gotten worse over the years since he was first diagnosed with ADHD and Tourette’s Syndrome, a neurological disorder for which there is no cure.
Since he was 5, it’s been a nonstop ticking migration that started from his head and eventually made its way to his leg. First, it was the head shaking, then one arm punching toward the ground, and the leg shaking. Somewhere along the way, the vocal ticks started. He made little sounds from his throat that were reminiscent of a baby monkey. You’d hardly notice it unless you were in a quiet room with him.
Another student in line notices my brother’s jerky movements and blurts, “What are you looking at? Stop looking at me, yo!” He laughs, fully aware that Isaac can do nothing to stop.
The other kids turn to watch. Some laugh along while others come to my brother’s rescue, albeit backhandedly. “Aw, dog, that’s Shake n’ Bake!”
Shake n’ Bake—his nickname.
Overwhelmed with the amount of attention, Isaac turns and pushes the kid, hard. My brother hasn’t had his growth spurt just yet, but he’s not wimpy either. He’s always been incredibly strong and at 11, he’s taller than some of the other kids.
A teacher rushes in to stop the commotion and my brother is sent to the principal’s office. From the first day at that junior high, he was an outsider, and today, he begins to really hate his classmates and teachers. It’s also a day that will mark more visits to the front office at his future schools for his defiant behavior. As he walks to the office, his adrenaline pulses through his body. He replays the incident in his head. That kid deserved it—he’s lucky he only got pushed.
A short while later, my mom arrives at the principal’s office. It’s not the first time my mother has seen the inside of a principal’s office. When Isaac was in second grade, my mom was informed that her son was telling the other kids that “he was in a gang. And we have a zero-tolerance policy for gangs at this school.”
“But he’s only seven,” my mom protested, with a smile. She hoped the principal would see how silly this whole thing was, but instead, my brother was expelled.
Four grades later, my mom is back in the principal’s office, this time at an inner-city junior high. “Pushing is not allowed at this school, Mrs. Tak,” the principal informs my mother.
“I’m so sorry he did that.” She turns to Isaac and asks in Korean what happened. While still staring at the ground, he recounts the teasing and pushing in Korean.
My mom looks at the principal. “The other kids were making fun of him. My son has Tourette’s.”
“I understand, but pushing another student isn’t the answer. There are other ways to deal with the problem.” After explaining how my brother could’ve better dealt with the situation, such as telling the teacher or talking it out with the other student, my mom ushers my brother out of the office and takes him home.
Feeling disheartened, my mom pulls my brother out of that school. Then, my parents move to Palos Verdes, another city that is about 35 minutes away from where they were living. It’s a wealthy area with multi-million dollar estates tucked away in the hills above the Pacific Ocean, but my parents manage to find a little two-bedroom condo to rent.
Palos Verdes is known for having a top-notch, public school system. Because my parents can’t afford to send him to a private school, they hope this move will provide some stability and a better education for my brother.
My brother attends Miraleste, the local junior high. Palos Verdes’ status as an elite town turns out to be both a blessing and a curse. The schools in the area aren’t overly populated but because of this, the school district busses in kids from the neighboring cities. For Palos Verdes, the next town over happens to be mostly lower middle class.
Miraleste is like a melting pot of races and social classes. You could quickly tell the students who live in Palos Verdes vs. the bused-in kids. Team Palos Verdes is Asian or white and shops at J.Crew. After school, they get picked up by their stay-at-home mom in a Mercedes or BMW.
The bussed-in kids had probably never stepped foot into a J.Crew. They gravitate to the style of the times, which was late ‘90s streetwear-gang-banger fashion. Plain white shirts, flannels, dark blue Dickies, and white Nikes with the red Nike swoosh.
My brother isn’t really a part of either group. He lives in Palos Verdes but doesn’t have a wealthy background like the other kids. He’s not a bussed-in student but identifies with the bussed-in group which explains the inevitable first friendships he forms.
New influences mixed with teenage angst seem to fuel a new sense of self. He is now a grade older than his Shake n’ Bake days, many inches taller, and his voice is deeper.
He begs my mom to buy him ribbed, white tank tops also known as wife beaters, and spends his evenings ironing the shit out of his jeans to make sure the creases along the front are crisp. He pulls up his white tube socks to his knees and wears long, baggy shorts over them. Then, he somehow convinces my mom to let him shave his entire head except for a long blonde wisp in the front that he slicks back with gel.
This transformation doesn’t happen overnight, but each time I’d return from college, his new look caused me to do a cringey double take. I felt horrified and worried.
I saw that he no longer identified with the vulnerable, slightly chubby 6th grader who got laughed at constantly because of his ticks. Now, he can be cool, admired, and even feared.
He may still bob his head and shake his arm, but the other kids better learn to ignore it.
This Substack is a spin-off of Memoir Junkie Wannabe Author, which is about my journey to completing my memoir. Even though the memoir is about my life and my stories, my younger brother has been a big part of all of it.
Oh Claire, I am wounded beyond words.
All the services that your brother should have received. Heart breaker of a write