Where do I start? Awhile back I wrote something about my youngest brother playing Barbies with me. My brother Bob commented that he wished he would have spent more time on things that were fun for me. He truly is clueless. Yes, we played some board games. One was I think called "Dream Date" or something like that... but that doesn't really scratch the surface of my memories of him. Maybe he doesn't really remember that he was the one that would tell my other two brothers "It's okay, let her come along" or "Don't make her cry". Oh, he got his shots in on teasing too, but when it came to sticking up for me, he's the only one I remember doing that. Maybe he doesn't remember playing cards with Grandma Lucas for hours and hours every weekend, Canasta I think was the name of the game.
My more vivid memories though, were later in our years. I remember being afraid to go to a school dance because I didn't know how to dance. Bob and I danced in the bedroom quite a few times, lessons in non-klutziness... He has no idea how thankful I was for that... He also taught me how to smoke... Gave me my first puff and then told me that I must have already been smoking because I didn't cough. I think I was destined to fight that ugly habit most of my life, because I actually enjoyed it from the very first puff. So, I don't know whether I should be thankful that he did this, or curse him for it. Thankfully, both of us have kicked it for good. Both of us around the same time too. Karma?
I remember coming home from the prom.. having an anxiety attack from taking too many No Doz. Who do I run to? Bob. What does he tell me? You need to eat meat. Raw meat. Bologna will work. So what do I do? I eat about 1/2 pound of Oscar Meyer Bologna, and I still freak out. More meat he says. More Bologna. I think about it now and I realize that it wasn't really the bologna that made me feel better, it was the perception that it would help, and it did. Thank you Bob.
I remember coming home one night from a 4-H play practice to find nobody home and note from my mom that said "Be right back". Was kind of odd as my mom rarely went anywhere. Even more odd was that it was around dinner time and my dad wasn't home, and there was no dinner even started. Odd. Then the phone call came. Someone... to this day I don't know who... called and scared the daylights out of me. They asked if my parents were home and then proceeded to tell me that my brother was in a motorcycle accident. Said that he lost an eye. Said that he was busted up really bad. Said he broke his legs, his arms, his back. Said he had head injuries and wasn't sure he if he was going to live or not. They took him to Hamot Hospital by ambulance. I remember screaming for help. I remember my brain racing and my eyes crying. Where were my parents? My mom didn't come "right back". How could I tell them? There were no cell phones.. I was stuck in the country with no way to get anywhere, nobody to call, no way to know if my brother was ok. I tried calling my other brother, no answer. I sat in the middle of the dining room on the floor crying and screaming for help. It took almost an hour when my mom finally called home and told me that she was at the hospital. I didn't get to go to the hospital until the next day. I was angry at everyone because I wanted to go. I needed to be with my brother. I thought about riding my bike but i didn't know how to get there. I was young enough that I didn't have any friends that drove yet. I was stuck. I was angry. I got to go the next day. He didn't lose an eye but it was all bruised and scraped. He didn't break his back, but he was busted up pretty bad. I went to the hospital every single day after that. Nine months of it. I would bring him dumb toys to play with. I would watch TV with him. I sat with him while we listed to the man in the same room with him breathe his last breath. There was an eerie silence about that.
Bob got to come home for Christmas! I was so excited. He had a hospital bed in our downstairs den and a TV. I would rush home from school to play cards or just sit with him and watch TV I remember one day dragging a recliner chair all the way downstairs and into the den because we got this crazy idea that we could tilt him up in that chair and he could play cards easier. I nearly broke my back getting that chair in there. Then we finally got him in the chair and his body cast cracked.. Yikes! I was so scared that it would hurt him! But wow, he could really sit up a little. That body cast was not easy to get around in! ha ha I remember somehow (the details are not real clear) but I think he had just regular casts on his legs, or maybe just one leg, but he couldn't wear a regular pair of jeans. So I got one of those rivet kits and took a pair of jeans and sliced up the sides and laced them up so he could wear them. We went to a school dance and it was the first time a lot of people had seen him since his accident. I was so proud of him. He had a long recovery and it was not easy for him. Friends come to visit you the first few weeks, but after awhile they quit coming. I didn't quit. For some stupid reason, I felt like I had to be there. I thought he needed me. I'm not sure if he thought that or not, but I wasn't going to miss a day.
Bob was the person that I would go to when I didn't know what to do, or if I had boy troubles or was mad at the parents. He was my blood, my hero, my rock. He doesn't know how important he was to me. He will probably never know how much.
Bob once ran away with the circus. He took care of the Jaguar that was in the commercials. (If I remember that correctly). He hitchhiked to Florida. He DID things that I would have been way to scared to do. Most of the time, I was the only one who knew where he was. I don't know why that was... Maybe nobody else cared to ask? I needed to know where he was. Maybe he knew that. I still have a post card he sent me from one of his adventures. How I envied him. When we were older, and both married, we lived in the same apartment complex and when times were bad, we helped each other out, shared food when necessary.
There are times when I miss him terribly. We live on separate sides of the country, but I know he's closer to me than most people. I don't always agree with him, sometimes I truly don't understand him, but that's okay. He understands me. He understands my relationship with my parents. He gets it. He's always on my side. There are times when I feel like it's really just him and I. Blood. Love.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Brother!(s) 2
I had 3 brothers. I have 1 brother. There are good things about having 3 older brothers growing up, and bad things... They constantly teased me. They always protected me. Well, sometimes they were bad influences too.
I can't remember for sure which brother it was, but I think it was Kenny who saved me from a murderer. Of course, we didn't know he was a murderer at the time, but he was. There was a boy at school named Bruce who had a terrible crush on me. He would write love notes to me, and sometimes stuff them in the crack of my locker. He was creepy, and frightened me. My brother threatened to beat up Bruce if he came near me again. After the warning, my brother caught him again trying to leave a note in my locker. He slammed Bruce against the locker just as I came around the corner. I knew it was not good.. not good at all. That happened several times and Bruce finally moved on.. Bruce is now on death row in Alabama. Enough said.
Kenny was always the favorite with my Mom. "He almost died at birth", she always said. "He only weighed 2 pounds, born at home", she said. "Had to put him in a shoe box in the oven to keep him warm, he was like a baby bird", she always said. He was a spoiled brat. She knew it too. He caused trouble, lied, cheated and was downright evil most of the time. Yet, I still loved him. We all did. He could sing like an angel, but wouldn't do it in front of anyone. I used to stand outside of his bedroom door and listen to him. He would sing "Michelle" by the Beatles and he sounded just like Paul McCartney.
Kenny never got blamed for anything, and most of the time he was the guilty party. One particular incident is forever etched in my mind. I walked through the door from our family room into the living room and Kenny was hiding at the side of the door. As I walked through he wailed me in the arm with his fist, instantly sending me to the floor screaming "Mommmmmmm!!!" And I looked up at Kenny and he had lifted up his sleeve and was punching himself in the arm, making it red. Mom came in the room and Kenny said "She hit me first! Look at my arm"! I said "He hit himself and made it red". Mom called me a liar and sent me to my room. Who in their right mind would hit himself in the arm to make it red. Brothers!
My best memory of Kenny though, was of his first girlfriend, Mary. I instantly liked Mary and saw her as the sister I always wanted. They married, had Kelly, my niece (another story, another day). Eventually they did divorce, but I kept Mary as my sister. She is still my sister and always will be. (another story)
Kenny lived life to it's fullest. He was an electrician and always seemed to land the big jobs and make the big bucks. He liked living large. He would send a limo to pick up a girl and bring her to his house and order food delivered from the swankiest restaurants in town, bought the best champagne and the best of anything he could find! All the money in the world couldn't buy him happiness though. He tried though. He died trying. I miss him.
Frank was the oldest. I have bits and snips of memories of him I do remember him having a "garage band", and they would practice at our house. I can't remember who was in that band with him though, I'm hoping to find out though. I remember he would sing Gene Pitney and I would laugh because, although he sounded like Gene Pitney, it was not anything like Frank sounded normally, so it was like he was singing with someone else's voice. I remember him driving my mom's 55 Buick at 90 miles an hour down New Road once, and I thought I was soooo cool riding fast with him! What a privilege it was! I was too naive to realize that we both could have died that day! Frank wrestled in high school and my mom and dad made me go to all of his matches. I really didn't mind though, Frank had some really cool friends and I had a crush on most of them!
I didn't really have a relationship with Frank, until he was older and moved back home from Florida. He came back to help my mom with her kennel business, but he no sooner got up here and developed health issues of his own. He had heart by-pass surgery, issues from diabetes, poor circulation and even had a small stroke. I visited him often, in the hospital and at his little house next door to my mom. We would talk for hours about the things we had done through the years while we were apart. It was like meeting someone new everytime we got together, learning things we never would have guessed. He had lived a hard life after his divorce and move to Florida. He came back very bitter, suspicious of everyone (he had some break ins and burglaries when he was there). He had some wonderful fun stories and some very sad ones. He hated women saying they were all whores, yet had several women that would do anything for him. I would call him on that every time he tried to say that. I would tell him that if ALL women were whores, than he is calling me a whore. He would say that sisters don't count. He was a really good cook and loved to watch the cooking shows on tv. He would call me every month or so to fix his computer. He would get frustrated and say that he needed to learn how it worked so he could fix it himself. I would tell him not to learn too much, that I liked it that he needed me for something!
Frank smoked cigarettes all of his adult life. He refused to even consider quitting. He would say "something's going to kill me, someday" and even when he was on oxygen, he would smoke. Sometimes he would catch his nose on fire briefly from smoking with the oxygen on. One day he took the oxygen off his nose, placed the tubing on the floor and was smoking. He fell asleep, dropped the cigarette onto the floor next to the oxygen and caught the rug on fire. He thought it was funny, and I loved him for it. He was determined to do what he wanted or didn't want to do. He didn't care if it did kill him. He felt as if he had lived his life the way he wanted and didn't really have anything more left that he wanted to do. He was my big brother and I looked up to him and loved the fact that he did what he wanted, didn't try to please anyone, just himself. I wished that I could be more like that, but I just had too many people that counted on me and I wanted to please them. Frank liked driving down to a local creek and would feed the fish bread. He told me that was his "happy place". He felt peace there. He passed away suddenly, sitting at the table, eating his breakfast. The coroner said he probably didn't feel anything, that his heart just stopped. He was done. He was cremated and I set him free in his "happy place" for eternity. I miss him.
I had 3 brothers. I have one brother. Bob. He deserves his very own page and I will tell you about him next.
I can't remember for sure which brother it was, but I think it was Kenny who saved me from a murderer. Of course, we didn't know he was a murderer at the time, but he was. There was a boy at school named Bruce who had a terrible crush on me. He would write love notes to me, and sometimes stuff them in the crack of my locker. He was creepy, and frightened me. My brother threatened to beat up Bruce if he came near me again. After the warning, my brother caught him again trying to leave a note in my locker. He slammed Bruce against the locker just as I came around the corner. I knew it was not good.. not good at all. That happened several times and Bruce finally moved on.. Bruce is now on death row in Alabama. Enough said.
Kenny was always the favorite with my Mom. "He almost died at birth", she always said. "He only weighed 2 pounds, born at home", she said. "Had to put him in a shoe box in the oven to keep him warm, he was like a baby bird", she always said. He was a spoiled brat. She knew it too. He caused trouble, lied, cheated and was downright evil most of the time. Yet, I still loved him. We all did. He could sing like an angel, but wouldn't do it in front of anyone. I used to stand outside of his bedroom door and listen to him. He would sing "Michelle" by the Beatles and he sounded just like Paul McCartney.
Kenny never got blamed for anything, and most of the time he was the guilty party. One particular incident is forever etched in my mind. I walked through the door from our family room into the living room and Kenny was hiding at the side of the door. As I walked through he wailed me in the arm with his fist, instantly sending me to the floor screaming "Mommmmmmm!!!" And I looked up at Kenny and he had lifted up his sleeve and was punching himself in the arm, making it red. Mom came in the room and Kenny said "She hit me first! Look at my arm"! I said "He hit himself and made it red". Mom called me a liar and sent me to my room. Who in their right mind would hit himself in the arm to make it red. Brothers!
My best memory of Kenny though, was of his first girlfriend, Mary. I instantly liked Mary and saw her as the sister I always wanted. They married, had Kelly, my niece (another story, another day). Eventually they did divorce, but I kept Mary as my sister. She is still my sister and always will be. (another story)
Kenny lived life to it's fullest. He was an electrician and always seemed to land the big jobs and make the big bucks. He liked living large. He would send a limo to pick up a girl and bring her to his house and order food delivered from the swankiest restaurants in town, bought the best champagne and the best of anything he could find! All the money in the world couldn't buy him happiness though. He tried though. He died trying. I miss him.
Frank was the oldest. I have bits and snips of memories of him I do remember him having a "garage band", and they would practice at our house. I can't remember who was in that band with him though, I'm hoping to find out though. I remember he would sing Gene Pitney and I would laugh because, although he sounded like Gene Pitney, it was not anything like Frank sounded normally, so it was like he was singing with someone else's voice. I remember him driving my mom's 55 Buick at 90 miles an hour down New Road once, and I thought I was soooo cool riding fast with him! What a privilege it was! I was too naive to realize that we both could have died that day! Frank wrestled in high school and my mom and dad made me go to all of his matches. I really didn't mind though, Frank had some really cool friends and I had a crush on most of them!
I didn't really have a relationship with Frank, until he was older and moved back home from Florida. He came back to help my mom with her kennel business, but he no sooner got up here and developed health issues of his own. He had heart by-pass surgery, issues from diabetes, poor circulation and even had a small stroke. I visited him often, in the hospital and at his little house next door to my mom. We would talk for hours about the things we had done through the years while we were apart. It was like meeting someone new everytime we got together, learning things we never would have guessed. He had lived a hard life after his divorce and move to Florida. He came back very bitter, suspicious of everyone (he had some break ins and burglaries when he was there). He had some wonderful fun stories and some very sad ones. He hated women saying they were all whores, yet had several women that would do anything for him. I would call him on that every time he tried to say that. I would tell him that if ALL women were whores, than he is calling me a whore. He would say that sisters don't count. He was a really good cook and loved to watch the cooking shows on tv. He would call me every month or so to fix his computer. He would get frustrated and say that he needed to learn how it worked so he could fix it himself. I would tell him not to learn too much, that I liked it that he needed me for something!
Frank smoked cigarettes all of his adult life. He refused to even consider quitting. He would say "something's going to kill me, someday" and even when he was on oxygen, he would smoke. Sometimes he would catch his nose on fire briefly from smoking with the oxygen on. One day he took the oxygen off his nose, placed the tubing on the floor and was smoking. He fell asleep, dropped the cigarette onto the floor next to the oxygen and caught the rug on fire. He thought it was funny, and I loved him for it. He was determined to do what he wanted or didn't want to do. He didn't care if it did kill him. He felt as if he had lived his life the way he wanted and didn't really have anything more left that he wanted to do. He was my big brother and I looked up to him and loved the fact that he did what he wanted, didn't try to please anyone, just himself. I wished that I could be more like that, but I just had too many people that counted on me and I wanted to please them. Frank liked driving down to a local creek and would feed the fish bread. He told me that was his "happy place". He felt peace there. He passed away suddenly, sitting at the table, eating his breakfast. The coroner said he probably didn't feel anything, that his heart just stopped. He was done. He was cremated and I set him free in his "happy place" for eternity. I miss him.
I had 3 brothers. I have one brother. Bob. He deserves his very own page and I will tell you about him next.
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