A Few Memories of My Brother (Younger Years)

I have one brother and he is twelve years older than I.  He's my hero and has always been.  I always wanted to be him.  But, I'm not.  I never was and never will be.  But, in some ways we are enough alike to be scary considereing we spent very little time together in my formative years.

I suppose one of the strangest is our unwillingness to make left turns.  Both of us, we discovered, will almost run out of gas rather than turn left into a gas station we'd have to turn left out of.  Another is our hatred of going through the drive through at fast food places.  A third is an unwillingness to sit still while driving.  I'll go miles and time out of my way to keep moving rather than sit in heavy traffic.  Perhaps what we really have in common is a lack of patience.  My wife, in fact, says I have "negative patience". 

Being so much older than I there are few memories of my brother in the very early years of my childhood.  I was told, though I have no memory of it, that when I was about six months old my brother held me up to the kitchen ceiling (I'll explain in some later post) and dropping me (accident I'm sure) on my head. 

The first memory I have for sure of my brother takes place on the road (dirt of course) that ran in front of the small, log cabin where we lived from my birth until I was four.  The road came out of the creek below our house and ran up a small incline to a place known as 'The Wash Rock".  I had just gotten a tricycle and he took me and the tricycle up to the top of that hill and let me ride off by myself.  The road was very rutted at the time so I made it just a few feet, hit a rut and fell over.  I don't know if I cried but I probably did.  I was quite the wuss when I was young.  Still am, I guess.

The next real memory I have of him is when I was about five.  By that time we have moved over on "Stafford" just down route 40 from the "Spicy Gap".   He would whittle 'rockets' out of wood and throw them up in the air for me.  Of  course he did not just hurl them by hand.  He would cut a stick and tie a length of twine to the end.  Then he'd put a know in the other end of the twine.  He would cut a notch in the 'rocket' so the knot in the twine would catch and hold there.  Then he'd lean back and hurl the rocket skyward with all his might.  I thought it went miles high and took for ever to come back to earth.  Of course this was not the case but it was like magic to me then.

Also at Stafford, the outhouse was across a street from the house.  I can remember one day I had a piece of string I was playing with.  I have no memory of how it got started but I can remember my brother was using the outhouse and I'd go across the bridge and he would tie my hands behind my back.  Then I'd run back across the bridge to the kitchen where my mother or dad would untie me and them I'd go back to be tied again. 

When I was six (no variety of preschool existed) I was sent to stay with my grandparents at Nat's Creek.  They lived just down the creek from the place where I was born.  The school teacher (Mrs Cooper) lived in the house where I was born and taught the one room school in the area.  It was called Preston's Gap school

My brother would take me to my grandparents on Sunday evening and pick me up on Friday nights.  One night stands out in particular.  It must have been in winter or early Sping as the road was very rutted and we got "center bound".  Those who have not driven on dirt roads after a thaw do not understand how many problems this engenders.  Center bound is where the ruts are so deep a part of the car sits on top and the wheels do not touch the ground and you get zero traction.

I sat in the car while he jacked up the right real wheel then  hunted rocks to put under it and fill the deepest part of the rut so we could have traction and not get stuck again.

My brother taught me that actions have consequences with the statement, "Hit me anytime you want but I will always hit you back twice as hard."  But, I enjoyed hitting him so I got smacked back quite  a few times.  We lived at Spring Knob Tower at the time.  Small log cabin.  Kitchen, Living room/bedroom and a small addition at the back that had another small bedroom and a porch.  The big bed was in the main room where my mother and I slept.  My dad slept on a fold up bed over in the corner by the fireplace and my brother slept on an old sofa  by the wall opposite on the other side of the fireplace.  I remember one morning my mother told me to go wake William up for breakfast.  So I went to where he was sleeping and hit him in the nose with all my strength.  It woke him up alright and his nose bled for ages it seemed.  However, I lived in terror of his retaliation for days.  Don't remember him ever repaying that one though.

Ok, that is enough for now.  Other stories later.