Number (1), the eldest, relocated to New Jersey and my second elder brother, was
local, however, as he would often say he resided "where ever nightfall caught him.."
Now, let's talk younger brother... Leukemia took our baby brother while he was in his
30's. I was especially devastated as he was my closest sibling and friend. Even at 3
years apart, people thought we were twins because my mother would dress us as
twins and we had rhyming names. It hit us all hard. As a matter of fact, my younger
brother's heartfelt popularity extended to his local community. A local and Nationally
Decorated Peace Of cer admired even by potential & proven criminals.
I had imagined a time for us to sit on a porch, in rockers somewhere as old men, drink
beer and watching our grandkids as they run amuck while playing with each other.
Our father died, never to witness any funeral services of his 6 children. I don't think
he'd had a frozen smile for any of their funeral services. I think his stone face would
have broken with tears. My mother's faith held her steadfast for all her family's
deaths, but her husband and her father. She could not hold her grief. I felt powerless...
We all did.
We, as sibling adults, would only be all together only once in our adult life. It was truly
an amazing memory for all of us, A WOW! moment for my mother. So much love,
laughter, so many stories.
I often joked with my younger brother, Number #9, telling him, my daddy wanted only
3 sons (‘My Three Sons’ - 60’s TV show)...My daddy had 2 sons rst, then ve straight
girls; then I was born... (he had his 3 sons)... OH...by the way...
I would crudely tell my younger brother, he was born in error. Number #9 never saw
the humor in that joke. I often recite that joke to explain why my parents had 9 kids.
I believe my daddy was the best father gure in my immediate neighborhood by
default. Some of my friends lived in our apartment complex were without full-time
fathers. My other friends that lived in our surrounding neighborhood, all lived in two-
parent households.
My father loved the attention of my friends in our apartment neighbors would give
him. He ate it up. A-liken to being 'The Father of the Neighborhood.'
My dad drove an SUV of the day, a new red Chevy Impala station wagon most of my
youth era. We were all loved that car. It was always washed, waxed and clear of litter.
In spite of our dad's kindness to our friends, none of my friends ever got a chance to
ride in our car. No room...We all knew our seating spot in the car.