Love Thy Brother

As I was growing up in Florida, I did so with three brothers. My eldest brother's name was Ronnie and he was six years older than me. Now, Ronnie and I didn't have too much in common other than our birthright because there were too many years that gapped our ages.

My youngest brother's name is Terry, he is nine years younger than me. Again, as with Ronnie, there wasn't much in common we had as children. Oh, of course I loved him because he was, after all, my brother but other than begging Mom to make him quit following me around, or the times I sat with him when she went somewhere, I wouldn't have known he was around.

Then there was Jerry. Now, Jerry was just three years older than me and we really used to get into some knock down, drag out fights as kids. I mean we couldn't pass one another in the hallway without a name being slurred or a punch or two exchanged. Yes, Jerry and I gave new meaning to the term "sibling rivalry".

I can't remember more than one time our mother ever, seriously, punished us for anything. Once she told me to clean my room before I went out to play and I said,
"I don't have to!" I found out quickly I did and that was the end of the conversation.

It was the same with Jerry as best as I can remember. Now Dad, on the other hand, was a different situation all together. We all tried to walk the line with him even though he never touched us. It was just the threat of what he could do if he wanted to that was enough to keep us in line. In fact, it only took "the look" to do it in most cases. I'm sure there are a lot of you who used to get "the look" so I know you understand, all too well, what I'm talking about.

Early in the mornings when we got ready for school was the worst possible time of day to throw Jerry and me in the same room together. Neither one of us were morning people to begin with but the only time of day we were forced to have to look at one another was at our breakfast. Dad would have already left for work, Ronnie was out of school, Terry was too young for school so that left only Jerry and me at the kitchen table that time of morning.

"Creep!" He'd address me under his breath so Mom couldn't hear.

"Goofy!" I'd return.

Now, I know Goofy wasn't very original but I used to think he looked like Walt Disney's Goofy and I couldn't resist the chance to tell him so any and every chance I got, it was part of the routine we'd go through each day.

"I hate your guts!" He'd fire.

"YEAH...well, I hate your guts more than you hate mine!" I'd always reply. I told you I wasn't very original, I didn't seem to be able to think on my feet as quickly as Jerry could.

"OKAY, I'm tired of this every morning." Our mom would say without fail. "From now on, every morning, you will tell each other how much you love each other, instead of how much you hate each other ...is that understood?"

HORRORS UPON HORRORS! Ask us to lop an arm off at the elbow, ask us to slide down a giant razorblade into hog slop but don't...please don't ask us to say "I love you." It would go against everything we had come to believe about one another for all those years...NO, don't make us do that!

"You will do it or your dad will hear about it when he comes home from work tonight...do you understand what I'm trying to say?" She asked us.

"Love ya..." Jerry told me hurriedly, as if it would be less painful to get it over with quickly.

"Yeah, yeah...me too." I answered with a wave of nausea.

Mother made us say those unspeakable words to one another for a solid week. I would use the excuses I wasn't hungry, I was running late, I didn't feel well...anything to keep me from sitting across the table from Goofy and telling him how much I loved him...it never worked bye the way, she always saw through it.

One morning as we were sniping under our breath at one another, Jerry stood up and made his way to the electric range where our milk was being heated for hot chocolate. He poured another cup then leaned against the range to get a better shooting angle at me while Mom wasn't looking.

What happened next I can still remember as though it were yesterday. Jerry's shirt tail was outside his jeans and it touched the hot coil on the electric range. Immediately, the back of his shirt was ablaze with fire shooting an entire foot above his head. He dropped the milk and began fumbling with the buttons trying to get the shirt off his body. I did nothing but scream and cry, it was as if my butt was frozen to the chair.

"HELP HIM!", I screamed at Mom.

Mom turned from the sink where she had been standing washing dishes. She had a glass of dishwater in her hand and she threw it across his back to put out the flames. What the water didn't get she beat out with her hands until, finally, the flames were extinguished.

As it turned out, except for his understandable fear, he wasn't hurt at all. The shirt, however, was another matter but that didn't seem to bother anyone that morning.

"I thought you hated your brother." Mom said to me. "Just now, when you thought he was dying, you screamed for me to help him, that doesn't sound like hate to me...it sounds like love."

OH GOD! What a horrible reality...I did love Jerry after all. Though it still took a little time for us to adjust to it, we began a better relationship with one another after that fateful morning.

The events that morning happened more than fifty years ago when we were children. Jerry joined the Navy at sixteen and I didn't see him again for years. As adults we got along well and had a mutual respect for one another. He married, had children and retired outside Jacksonville, Florida.

The last time I was able to tell my brother just how much I really loved him all those years was in December of 1990 as he died of cancer. He was coherent
until the end so we laughed a lot about our childhood and the way we treated one another but I'll never forget our last conversation.

"I love you." I softly told him as I rubbed his brow.

"I love you too, Sis." He told me as he squeezed my hand for the last time.