When I was young and I would come home with a black eye or a bloody nose (a frequent occurance when I was young) my parents' reaction was to ask me what it was I did to cause someone to want to give me a black eye or a bloody nose.
It was a pretty good reaction. It taught me to be introspective and to try and see my part in the conflicts in my life. To be honest, it worked both ways. When some kid's parent called to complain of a black eye or a bloody nose, my parents asked what their kid did to cause me to want to give them a black eye or a bloody nose.
It worked most of the time....sometimes, however, it backfired. Like the day when I was five and I was out shopping with my mother and I finally convinced her that I was much too big to be taken to the ladies room, that I was big enough to use the bathroom all by myself, I never told anyone about the man in the restroom that hurt me. I was afraid that if I did, they would say, "See? I told you that you were too small to go by yourself, this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't insisted upon having your own way".
In my parents' defense, I now know that their reaction would not have been that...but that doesn't change the fact that, as a child, I was certain that their reaction would be what I feared.
Later on, when I was an adult, my mother and I were talking about humor. I observed to her that humor comes from pain. "But you're funny", my mom said, "where does your pain come from?" Even as an adult, I still couldn't tell her...I just didn't trust myself to word it in the right way.
I am the youngest of four children. My brother, John, is the oldest of us and, when I was growing up, he was my hero. He did everything I wanted to do and was everything I wanted to be. He drew well, he played the guitar, he taught me to hit a baseball, throw a football, ride a bike, build a fort.
He actually had the patience and steady hands to put an airplane model together without it having huge globs of glue oozing from the seams..he never seemed to not have time for me. He was always patient with me...even when I couldn't keep my grubby, clumsy hands off of his freshly-painted and decaled airplane model (which despite its aerodynamic design refused to fly very far and wasn't nearly as sturdy as it looked)....and when the incident in the bathroom changed me, caused me to begin lashing out and acting badly for all the rest of my childhood, it was my big brother who got me through everything....the one that never ever seemed to give up on me.
John was a soda-jerk at KG Drugstore about a mile from our house and our mom would often drop me off at the counter for John to watch me while she went shopping somewhere else. I marvelled at the dashing figure he cut in his starched white apron and bow tie and the paper hat set at a jaunty angle.
I watched the skill with which he made malts and turned burgers...waiting until the perfect moment to place the cheese on the patty so that it was melted at precisely the proper amount, then placing the top half of the bun down on the patty while it finished cooking so that it was all warm and greasy and filled with all of the artery-clogging goodness that makes a burger taste wonderful...and I especially loved the way he would slip me a cherry Dr. Pepper or a plate of chips from time to time. Sometimes he would pool his tips together and buy me a comic book or a bag of plastic green army men, half of whom I would position on the counter in a defensive line about the ketchup and mustard bottles while the other half assaulted from the salt and pepper shakers and napkin dispenser.
To this day, I prefer chips instead of fries, and a really good soda fountain soft drink is the epitome, the sine qua non of carbonated beverages...there's nothing in a bottle that can rival the taste.
One day my sisters came at the end of his shift and we all decided to race home...girls against the boys. My big brother swept me onto his strong shoulders and ran home with me laughing all the way. We beat our sisters by a wide margin and, not knowing what to do until they got home, my brother decided to teach me how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Almost five decades later, I still make them the same way he taught me.
When John left on his mission, I was devastated. I had no idea how I was going to cope with my pain without him there to destract me and make me feel like I wasn't dirty or damaged or like I didn't have a target on my back. I had no idea how to feel like a normal kid without my big brother there and I was terrified.
I don't know why I didn't make the connection with all of the preparation...maybe it was denial but I first realized that my brother was going to be gone for almost three years on the ride back home, after dropping John of at the train station. I looked about and noticed he wasn't in the car. I frantically told my parents that we'd forgotten John and we needed to turn around. When I was told he wouldn't be back for almost three years, I burst into tears.
I don't think that adults realize it but, time is a relative thing and three years to a five and a half year old is over half of his life span. At first they thought my tears were cute, then they got annoying and I was told in no uncertain terms to stop. Somehow I did but pain is non-compressable and, while I pushed it down there, it sprang up and manifested itself in other areas of my life.
John's return from his mission was to be three months after I turned eight years old and, though I loved and idolized my father as well, I could think of nobody other than my brother that I wanted to dip me into the waters of baptism so that I could finally feel clean again...so I postponed my baptism for three months until he came home.
As an adult, I asked my father if my decision hurt his feelings, like the wonderful father he was, he told me how proud he was that his eldest son baptised his youngest. I wasn't quite sure how he felt until my accident made it impossible for me to baptise my own youngest child and my own eldest son filled in for me. The glowing pride I felt at that moment made it possible for me to put the nagging fear that I had offended my father to rest.
My brother and I are so alike in so many ways and so different in so many others. There have been times when we've sworn we never wanted to see each other again and times when we couldn't wait to be together. Some of the happiest times of my life have been spent with him and I never laugh harder than when I am in his company.
Up until now, nobody but my wife has known what he meant to me growing up and how much a role he played in me being able to function as a normal person....not even John has known.
When people ask me why I love him so much, up to now, all I've been able to say was, "He taught me to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich"
