Not long after our Dad passed, my brother and I spent some time on the phone, talking about Dad, the influence he had on our lives, and how we were going to go on without that man who had strode like a giant through our lives for so long. I've recounted parts of that conversation before. But there is another part of that discussion I haven't described.
Towards the end of that call - we talked for over an hour - I said to my older brother, "Someone once told me, brothers aren't like your buddies or the guys you hang out with. Being brothers is more than that. Being brothers should be something special." My brother agreed, but I wasn't done: "Do you know who told me that?" I asked him.
He didn't remember. "You did," I told him. "What I was about 19." I was 56 at that time.
Being basically on opposite ends of a big family, he being second, me being last of five kids, my brother and I had a significant age difference; he is 12+ years older than me, almost of a different generation, he being among the first cohort of the Baby Boomers (b. 1949) while I'm among the last (b.1961). That led to some differences between us; my brother was a hippie back when the whole thing was first thought up, and if you look at him today, the first thing you're likely to think is "old hippie." He's 75, and even today still has a fondness for brightly patterned shirts and still wears a ponytail, although it's gray now instead of black. If he looks like an old hippie it's because he is one, although his earlier beliefs were tempered later in life, in part because of his many years of self-employment. Even so, when I joined the Army, we agreed to disagree on the wisdom of that move.
We had our differences, yes. But being brothers overcame all that.
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That age difference meant that there was a narrow span - really, only about three or four years - when I was old enough and my brother young enough that we hung around together and did the kinds of thing brothers in Allamakee County, Iowa did. Some of my fondest memories at of times like the evening my brother came by and told me he had heard on the radio that the Perseids meteor shower was going on; he had a 12-pack of beer in a cooler, so we drove over to a nearby county park where there were no lights, sat on the tailgate, drank beer and told each other outrageous stories while watching for hours as the meteors streaked across the sky.
There were many more instances like that one. I helped him build his workshop, where he designed and built high-end custom stereo speakers for many years. I still remember the day we laid the concrete pad, in searing, 90+ degree heat, screting the concrete flat as the muggy heat cooked us. We got it done - and that, now that I think on it, may be why I enjoy so much living in a place where it seldom goes above 75 degrees. I helped him with testing speakers, for which he had a narrow walkway out over a ravine behind the shop, where he would hook up his test bed where a speaker was placed at the center of an array of microphones hooked up to an oscilloscope; I didn't understand much about what he was doing, but I'd like to think I contributed in some way to his array of patents.
Like me, my brother is addicted to reading and is an information junkie. Dad once confessed to me that he enjoyed, as he put it, "just sitting and listening to my sons talking - between the two of you, you seem to know a little about almost anything." He wasn't wrong; my brother and I could talk for hours, and when we disagreed, we did so calmly and with respect. Dad also was bemused that, while he was of the "get a job with a good company and work for them until you retire" generation, both of his sons insisted on self-employment.
Most of all, as my big brother, despite our occasional differences, he was and is a good man, one who I still admire and look up to.
As we go through our lives, it's important to remember to treasure not only our parents but our siblings as well. They rank in importance in our lives behind only our parents and children, and it's funny how life turns around on us; for my siblings and me, the loss of our parents somehow brought us all closer again. For all the years we raised our families, we weren't in touch all that often. Still, with our children all grown (one of my sisters pointed out to me, "We're the Grandmas and Grandpas now") and our parents gone, my oldest sister took over the role of head of the family and conduit for family information. "It's funny," she said, "now Mom and Dad are gone, all of our kids are grown and have their own families, and suddenly I'm the oldest (sibling) again."
And so the wheel turns. We're all getting older - even me, the baby. And we all need each other.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to call my brother.
