Brothers

On a recent trip to the old homeplace in Walnut, North Carolina, I decided I needed to capture an image of the low ceiling in the room I grew up in. The top of my head is less than a tiptoe length below ceiling. Needless to say, very little jumping up and down with excitement or being hopping mad went on in this room after I became fullgrown (heightwise at least). The mattress and box springs and bedspread are new, but the frame and the location are the same.

From the late summer of 1968, when my family moved in with Mama Reeves, my grandmother, my three-years-older brother Jerry and I shared this room until he went off to college in the late summer of 1974. (Of course, when he came home for the weekends and holidays and summers, we still shared the room.) His twin bed was located in the corner of the room on the other side of the window seen to my left. Our corners clearly revealed the differences between us.

By "differences" I don't mean disagreements. Jerry was the first grandchild/nephew born into the North Carolina branch of my mother's large family. My grandfather and uncles were thrilled with him. This is not to say that I went unnoticed when I came along second just three years later, but my life in the family was different. My brother was the little man, I and my cousin Joey (some 18 months younger than I) were the kids. Papa Reeves and the uncles, as I've heard it, would take Jerry--say, at four years old--along on trips and adventures that Joey and I, when we reached four, were too young for. That was okay for us, as we had each other. I think now of Jerry, the oldest, without much in the way of playmates in those early years. Still, with the attention from the older set of the family, he probably wasn't lonely--at least I hope he wasn't.

As I said, we were different, but this didn't lead to the fighting that a lot of brothers do. Although Jerry might recall things differently, I don't recall our having much to do with each other. We just sort of coexisted with very little argument. Our corners of our room revealed the real differences. The walls of Jerry's corner, as he got older, held two gun racks filled with rifles and shotguns. My walls were decorated with a blacklight ecology poster, somewhat like an American flag but with a peace sign where the stars should be. I also had a poster of a band or two--Chicago, I think, or maybe Jethro Tull. (My Tull phase, which I'm not yet completely out of, might have come later, after my brother was gone off to NC State.) When Jerry had his turn at the record player, I remember the room filling with the sounds of Merle Haggard (which I disliked then but love now). When it was my turn--the Jackson 5 and Rare Earth.

My brother has been on my mind lately. He was married recently, of course, which was a wonderful thing. So I've been thinking about that and hoping that all is going well with Cathy and him. And I've been hoping that our mom is able to enjoy her great happiness in spite of the fact that he won't be stopping by on his way home every night or at least blowing his horn as he drives past.

He's also been on my mind because of a recently discovered health concern. From what I've heard, he doesn't seem to be in immediate danger, but it's serious enough to give me pause and to put a prayer in my mind.

Let all be well in these strange and beautiful days.

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