Friday Friday

Today. Friday the thirteenth. July 13, 2007. Happy Birthday to my brother & my best friend.
My older brothers' birthday.
I have two brothers, one about a year and a half older than me and one about a year and a half younger.
Growing up my brothers' were my constants in life. They were my best friends. They were also, at times, my biggest enemies.
I have learned so many valuable things from them, some things that I fear would have never have just come about naturally to me...
Living in the foothills of the Appalachians about twenty years ago with my older brother & a couple of other room-mates, we found the winters to be a bit more severe than they are of years more recent. Back then, it seems, that each winter brought us freezing rain, sleet and/or snow.
I had a green 'Hess' jacket that I had acquired from a male friend, who was a mechanic. Needless to say the jacket coat was toasty warm, as it was designed for a man to be able to work outside. But it was also terribly & permanently stained with oil, oil, and more oil. I used it as I needed but as soon as I saved up enough money to be myself a more attractive & fitting womans' winter coat, I did.
The green Hess coat went into the hallway closet.
One day, my brother plucked it out. It seems he had given his leather coat to another girl who found herself in a similar situation as me... moving up from from warmer territory to this surprisingly much colder area and living without the immediate means to provide a warmer coat for herself.
For months, my brother wore this nasty, oil-stained, frayed seamed & unsnapping Hess coat. It worked. For Christmas, we headed down South to spend the days with our family. One of my brothers biggest Christmas gifts that year was a very nice winter coat. One that was lined & water resistant. One that had zippers and snaps...all working. One that had no stains & no automatic stench about it. One that wasn't frayed around the arm holes and the waist.
Being young and hungry for life, we left the family on Christmas day with plans to make it home in time to work on the 26th. Sometime in between ten and midnight Christmas night, we found ourselves quite hungry and nothing was open anywhere to eat. Driving through Atlanta, we were pleased to see that a McDonalds was open. We stop to eat.
Sitting inside eating sea kelp for burgers, I notice a homeless man stumble through the parking lot. The wind is picking up, the temperatures are dropping and the rain is beginning to slash through the nights sky.
He stumbles through the parking lot and past our car. I point him out to my brother.
He stumbles back towards our car & then opens the back door of our car. I gasp & stand up ready to bolt.
The man reaches in and plucks my brothers' brand new Christmas coat out of the backseat.
My brother watches.
'Sit back down Paiger. He's cold, hungry & homeless.'
'Yeah, but that's your brand new...'
'Yeah, well I got a roof over my head when I get home. And I still have that Hess coat. All he'll have is that coat to call home. Let it be, sister.'

Sandcastles & Scrapping

In 1979, we lived in a very small town on the gulf coast of Mississippi. Our town was small, yet festive. We had one gas station, a grocery store no bigger than a 7-11 and a police department that consisted of 2 men & one woman. There were no casinos, bowling allies or movie theatres, but we did have annual festivities...the Blessing of the Fleet, Mardi Gras, the Crawfish Festival & more.

These events were very important, perhaps more important there than in other larger communities where the citizens had more entertainment on a daily basis. One of these events was the Annual Sand-Sculpture Contest. It was an all day event...beginning at 8am and ending promptly at 5. I can't recall how many contestants there were, but the usually desolate beach was packed with each group assigned to a 20' x 20' section of sand.My brother, a year and a half my senior, and I were contestants.

We got to the beach when the wind was still cold and the water freezing. We lugged 5 gallon buckets, shovels, forks, picks and knives to our little plot in the sand. We worked with increasing franticness throughout the morning. At lunch time, we were able to walk around & enjoy the eye candy of everyone else's creations. It was amazing spectacle.... mermaids, ships, lobster, gnomes, houses and more... all built of sand.

After lunch, my brother felt somewhat already defeated. The other sandcastles seemed to be so detailed and grand compared to our massive mound of sand, true. But we, still had a wonderful fondation and were left only with the details that would make our castle 'pop.' So, I took to one side and he took to the other....slicing, carving, smoothing & shaping.

'Damn it!' was the first profanity I heard from the other side of our mound. I asked 'What is it?' The mumbled words held a warning for me....'Nothing! Just shut up.' Ut-oh... young teen-age boy testosterone kicking in on the other side, I shut up. A few minutes passed and I could hear more... 'Stupid peice of sh-t.' Ut-oh, he's wearing thin. I said not a word. Then I heard the caravan of every word our Mother had told us to never use... they rolled off of his tongue and into te air like a tsunami. I walked over to his side to see what the problem was. A small section of the castle kept collapsing. He warned me, 'Don't say a word, I know it sucks! We're gonna lose!'

I smiled (mistake) and said, 'It'll be ok...we can fix it!' Boom! Trigger was tripped, the levy was broke & the profanities flew. I shut up. When he seemed to calm down a bit, sitting on his upturned 5 gallon bucket, I ventured to speak again. 'Maybe some more water in the sand will help.' He looked at me and sighed in defeat, 'Yeah, maybe. I'll get it, I'm just taking a break.' Ok, cool. I ventured back to my side...packing & poking my sand.

I saw my brother walk to the water with his bucket/stool in hand. He filled it with water & came back. Another labored sigh and 'Ok, I can do this.' I let him be, not saying a word. He could do it, I just knew it. He had been stressed & just needed a little bit of peace. Hopefully, the break and the absence of my voice were his tickets to peace.

Moments later, the motherload of profanities flew through the air. A hurricane in our little section of the sand. Water flying upwards, downwards & sideways. Sand being blasted, smashed & our castle trashed. A 5 gallon bucket of water had been slung onto the face of our sculpture. I had rose to my feet just in time to have sandy water splatter into my face. I paced maybe a step or two when I saw the bucket get thrown into the remains of our melting castle. A pace later, I could see his leg & foot maliciously kicking the remains of our sculpture.

That's when it happened. The storm in me had been aroused. I jumped onto my sibling like an angry hornet attacking someone who had intruded their nest. We were rolling in the sand, fists and feet flailing. Whack! Bam! Crack! I felt it. I heard it. I did not immediately see it.

In the flurry of sand and elbows, in a rage of munts, grunts and occassional profanities the sun disappeared from my sky, the sound of the waves & the wind had ceased. Whack! Crack! Bam! echoed in my head and on my back through all of our munting & grunting & heaving of air.

Then I saw him. A little old man. Bent knees. Dark gray hair gone wild. Cane in hand, but not on the ground. 'Damn Shame!'

I froze. His cane was once again over his head & he was ready to pelt me again. He said, 'Where's your mother?! You children should be ashamed!' Once again, I said nothing. I looked around, scanning the masses for our mother. Still spitting sand out of my mouth & collapsed on top of my brother, I scanned the masses for our Mother.

I saw her. She was about 5 castles away, backside to us... walking away. I called for her. She didn't flinch. I yelled loudly for her, she kept walking away.

The old man, cane still overhead, said 'Get up you shameful little varmit!' Where's your mother.' I got up and spotted my mother, now twice as far away & gaining speed. I told him, 'I'm sorry. Your'e right. We should be ashamed & I am ashamed. I'm sorry. Would you please lower your cane?'

Humpft! 'Where's your mother.'
I got up and spotted my mother, now twice as far away, backside still to us. 'Our mother didn't come out today'

1971~ Big Wheels, Bicycles & Madame Alexander

My determined & experimental brother, two years my senior, was always an early riser. Being a defiant & independant thing myself, I always wanted to be the last one down & I never cared about being the first one up. I just knew all the excitement happened in the wee hours of the night, especially at Christmas-time.
Christmas morning, 1971, saw my brother awakening before the peacocks & the roosters. This was normal on any day, but especially on Christmas day. Usually, my sweet & thoughtful sister & myself, were the last to rise and actually we really didn't rise, as much as we were tugged, pulled, bullied & bribed out of bed. In our world, the opening of the gifts under the tree could not... would not, happen until we were all up and at 'em.
So, with promises of stockings overflowing, bribes of 'breakfast is ready' and threats of 'everyone is up but you,' I finally arose this Christmas morning.
Groggy-eyed, I followed my brother to the living room, he was chirping 'Look what Santa left me...a bike! And look, a Big Wheel too!' I was rubbing my eyes, disoriented, I said 'What did I get?' He said 'Well, Look in your stocking and see!'
There was a doll, along with some apples and oranges. I wasn't discouraged...but I wasn't impressed. I asked him 'Why didn't I get a Big Wheel or a bike?' Wisely, he replied 'You're a GIRL! Girls get dolls!' Hmmm...I wandered onto the kitchen to get a plate full of scrambled eggs & grits, so we could all begin our gift opening ritual.
Later in the day, as my brother raced around the neighborhood, splitting his time between Big Wheels & bicycles, I ventured out back. I sat on the dock and fixed my doll. It had a head full of hair. I painstakingly & purposelly pulled all of the hair out of it's crown...newborn babies rarely had a head full of perfect hair, in my world. I left the hair just over the ears and around the backside, making it even more life-like, for my world.
When I tracked my way back in the house, my Mother liked to have had a stroke. Apparently this was a very special doll... a Madame Alexander. She was apalled that I had spent the afternoon pulling its' hair out & wanted to know why I hadn't been outside riding with the boys. I told her that I didn't have anything to ride. She looked bewildered & told me to go look again in the living room, Santa had brought me something. I thought there must be a scooter or something that we all over-looked, so I searched, high & low. I searched behind the tree and under the tree, behind and under the sofa...everywhere.
No scooter, nothing to ride...just wads of spent paper, piles of crumpled boxes and stretched out nylon socks.
Not long before dark, Mom turned into the Repossessor. She clarified for my brother that the bike was his & the Big Wheel was mine. He didn't really beleive her...I was a girl & got a doll. Finally she had to call on the Re-enforcer, Dad, who resolved the issue once & for all. He was a big boy & got a bike, I was a little girl and got a Big Wheel.
Winter turned to Spring & I had already worn a hole in my back right wheel. You know, from yanking on the brake and sliding sideways. The hole startied as a slit but quickly became shaped just like the number 4.
Meanwhile, my sweet & patient older sister had her bike, first stolen by neighborhood boys, then finally destroyed by leaving it in the driveway behind Dad's car.
Dad lectured us all on leaving our toys out...they'd get stolen or destroyed.
My determined older brother took good care of his bike though. He always put it up. He never let me ride it & he refused to try to teach me how to ride it, despite my pleas.
One day, he ventured in asking me where my Big Wheel was. I told him it was outside & he lit into me very much like Dad had lit into my sister....'It'll get stolen, it'll get run over! Ewww, Dad is gonna creme you' So, finally fatigued by his words I went out to fetch it.
But it was gone.
That week, my brother started riding his bike a little bit further than normal. He was now allowed to ride it 4 blocks away to his friend Warren's house to help him & his family paint the exterior of their home a stylish 70's color of mustard yellow, accented by doo-doo brown.
In just a matter of days, my brother returned home with a story of a great venture that he & Warren had gone on. They'd ridden their bikes around the lake. It was garbage day & they'd found the coolest stuff put out by the neighbors on the other side. They found some carpeting to go into another boys treehouse and amongst everything else, they had also found 'the Coolest Big Wheel Ever!' It was just like mine, but even cooler, it's in BOY colors!'
You got it...mustard yellow & doo-doo brown!
But the hole... the hole in the right wheel, the hole shaped like the number 4, was there & I knew that this Big Wheel had once been mine.
Lesson learned...if you leave your toys outside, they'll get stolen or destroyed. Maybe by the boys down the street or maybe just by the boys down the hall.
I was mad, but defiant and ready to move on.
I really didn't ride the Big Wheel again. Instead, while my dear, crafty, determined & ingenuitive brother was busy at school, I defiantly taught myself how to ride a bike...not just any bike, but his bike.
This little life lesson makes us all laugh today.
It taught my brother not to steal, as he learned it'll come back to get you double-fold & it taught me that what can seem like a set-back can really just be push ahead.