Brother, Brother

I was born and raised in a small town in southern Indiana and was the fifth of six children. I have three sisters and 2 brothers. Today I would like to write about my brothers as both of their birthdays are this month.

My brothers and I were stairsteps, each a year apart. We were like the Three Musketeers when we were young. In the summertime my mother would shoo us out the door to play shortly after breakfast. There was always something to do, an adventure to be had, right in our own backyard.

We had a very large sandbox (8'x10') in which we could let our imaginations flow. We would take the garden hose and wet down the sand then begin creating our castles, moats, towns, and roads. If we didn't like what we built we could wash it all away with the hose and start over. We could lie down and make sand angels (no need to wait for snow). Sometimes we would build skyscrapers, challenging each other to see whose would reach the highest. Other times we would build a race track and then bring out our toy cars and trucks to zoom along in an imaginary Indy500. Battlefields with tiny toy armies provided hours of fun and strategy. If we didn't want to build we would smooth out the sand and it became a giant canvas for drawing pictures, a MagnaDoodle of sorts. There was something mystical about the way the sand felt on our bare feet, sqishing between our toes, while the sun baked our young bodies to a golden brown, sprinkling our faces with freckles. We learned how to manipulate the sand, getting it to just the right consistency for the project at hand, molding it, smoothing it like clay, poking holes with sticks, adding assorted ornamentation. We spent hours in that sandbox and were probably the dirtiest children in the neighborhood. But we were happy, and I might add, the envy of the neighborhood kids.

When we tired of the sandbox we would play on the swingsets, soaring skyward in the canvas seats. My brothers taught me to be fearless, swinging higher and higher, then letting go at just the right moment so I could go sailing through the air like a trapeze artist, then landing on my feet like a cat, arms raised for balance. We would scramble up to the top bar, hang from our knees and flip around like little gymnasts, or walk carefully across as if it were a balance beam. When we tired of that we would take blankets and throw them over the bar to create a huge tent where we would pretend to be camping. We would make tables and chairs from concrete blocks and scraps of wood and I could bring out my dolls for a tea party.

When we were called in for lunch, we would protest because we were having too much fun. But in we would go. After lunch, we would nap on a pallet of blankets and a cool cotton sheet spread out on the living room floor, a fan humming away in the corner gently blowing away the heat of the day, lulling us to sleep. When we awoke, if we had a penny or two, we could go across the alley to the little candy store, where we would agonize over what to buy. Once we made our purchases, we would hurry back to gobble up our goodies.

If we felt industrious, or just low on our pennies, we would set up a lemonade stand. We had the best lemonade stand on the block because we also had our own little cotton candy machine, snow cone machine, and miniature soda fountain. We would carefully pour the sugar into the whirring machine and let it perform its magic, spinning it into puffy clouds. Then we would catch it up on paper cones to sell along with the drinks. We learned to work as a team, alternating who would pump out the soda or stir up the lemonade, who would crank the handle to make the colorful sno-cones, and who would collect the money and make the change.

In late afternoon, we would fill up the wading pool and turn on the sprinkler. We would play water games, chasing each other with the hose, or fill water balloons to play water tag with our friends. We would dash behind trees and bushes and hide until just the right moment when we could launch our balloons at our "enemies". Then we would run like crazy to escape the retaliation, sometimes slipping on the wet grass, sliding around like seals.

After dinner, as the day was fading into twilight, we would run out with jars to catch lightning bugs. Those twinkling little creatures were as fascinating as anything we could imagine. When we finally had to go in for the night, we would open the lids and let them go, free to light up the night sky like tiny stars as they flitted around.

At other times, we would invite the neighbor kids over to play softball. My brothers taught me how to pitch and catch, and how to swing the bat at just the right moment to make contact with the ball. They taught me how to slide across the grass and how to steal bases. I learned how to shoot hoops with my brothers. The goal was set up at the end of a small concrete pad at the back of the yard and we spent many hours arcing the ball toward the backboard, getting just the right spin to allow it to drop through the net. I learned to ride my bicylce with my brothers' help and once I got the hang of it we would race down the sidewalks together, feet pedaling as fast as they would go. We were only allowed to go from one corner of the block to the other at first, then around the block, then around our neighborhood. It was the freedom every kid dreams of. As we got older, we ventured out all over our town, out to the river, and the surrounding countryside.

Not all our days were joyful. We fought like any other kids did. We clung to each other when my father drank too much and was arguing with my mother. We teased and tormented each other as kids will. But we forged an unbreakable bond in those early years that would last a lifetime no matter how far apart we lived or what direction our lives took us. In good times and bad, we would be there for each other because we were family and my brothers were my protectors and my wards. I love them dearly. And though one of them has died, I will always hold them dear in my heart. Happy Birthday Brothers!