My older brother ran for my sake, heedless of the pain in his legs or the undignified figure he cut.

#nana56b


Synopsis

My older brother, Shoichi, who was four years older
than me, had been born with a disability in his right
leg. Because of a condition called polio, he lived at
a care facility on top of a mountain until I turned
six.

It was the sports day of the year my brother returned
home and started attending the local elementary
school. I was in my final year of kindergarten, and I
sat next to my mother, waiting for my brother’s
turn.
But my brother just sat in his chair, staring at his
classmates kicking up dust in the distance.

“Why isn’t Big Brother running?”

When I asked that question, my mother just smiled and
didn’t answer me.

The following year, I enrolled in the same elementary
school as my brother.

The sports festival season came around again. As the
program progressed, it was finally time for my
brother—now in fifth grade—to take the field.

My brother wasn’t in the spectator stands. I scanned
every corner of the schoolyard. Then, at the starting
line of the 100-meter dash, I spotted my brother
standing with the support of his homeroom teacher’s
shoulder.

At that time, my brother was wearing a heavy cast to
correct his leg. His gait was so unsteady that he
looked as if he might lose his balance just standing
there.
“On your marks, get set…”
The starting gun rang out. As the other students burst
forward all at once, only my brother was left behind.

My brother took a step forward.
It was too slow to be called “running,” yet too
desperate to be called “walking.” He dragged his
right leg, and I could almost hear the cast scraping
against the sand. Swaying his body widely from side
to side, he tried to move forward, step by step.

I couldn’t bear to watch my brother like that.

(This is embarrassing—please stop…), I honestly
thought.
But then, something unexpected happened.
From the previously silent field, a scattered
clapping began. It soon swelled into a huge wave,
transforming into thunderous applause from the entire
student body and their parents.

Everyone was cheering on my brother as he ran.

I looked up. My brother was drenched in sweat,
gritting his teeth and staring down at the ground. In
his eyes, there was nothing but a fierce determination
to move forward, even if just one step at a time. My
brother was running his own life with all his might,
on his own two feet.
Before I knew it, I, too, was clapping my hands
frantically.
The finish line tape had long since been taken down,
but the moment my brother finally crossed the white
line, I couldn’t hold back the tears welling up in
my eyes.

I heard later that my mother had told my brother,
“Your younger brother asked why you didn’t run.”

My brother ran for my sake.
Unfazed by the pain in his legs or the fear of
looking foolish, he stood at that starting line
simply to show me “my big brother running.”

Even now that I’m an adult, I’ve never asked my
brother …