Brothers

What is it about brothers? You can't live with them, and you don't want to live without them.

My brothers were something else. I love them dearly, but I didn't particularly care for them when I was growing up.

I had the duty on many occasions of "babysitting" my brothers (they were 4 and 6 years younger than I), and this "babysitting" began when I was maybe 9 or 10 years old. The babysitting took place during church services -- my parents knew they were only 50 yards away at the church, so I could get help quickly if I needed it.

Needless to say, my brothers weren't mindful of rules when I was in charge. They were rambunctious and made a mess of the house. They fought, more than my sister and I fought, and their fighting was destructive.

I do remember leg wrestling with my brothers until I was in my late teenage years, and ALWAYS beating them. Of course, I was bigger than they were, but they were boys, after all. They should have been able to flip me with no effort at all.

And since I was a girl, and there was a no-hit rule, I took advantage of that, and beat my brothers whenever I felt like it. No excuse was necessary. I'd just walk up to them and start beating on them. And everyone thought I was such a good little girl. If only people knew. Unfortunately, God knew, and I've had guilty feelings for years about how I treated my little brothers.

My brother, Mark, loved baseball. He FINALLY made a local team after several years of practice. I believe he was a catcher. By the time he was on one of the local Babe Ruth league teams, I was no longer interested in attending games, so I only saw him play a couple of times, and I think those times were on the 4th of July, when everyone in town was in attendance.

In this day and age, if the bad guys knew a whole town was occupied at the local ball field, I'm sure robberies would go up. That was not the case when we were growing up. Daddy always locked the doors, TWICE, but most people in town didn't worry about having their house broken into, any more than they worried about their children being kidnapped.

My brothers didn't do as well as my sister and I in school, and those poor guys, had to live up to my reputation, and my sister's. It wasn't that they weren't smart, it was just that they didn't care as much about doing well in school. And, trouble? Well, my father was called to the principal's office on more than one occasion to discipline the boys.

Mark settled down in high school, I think (I was pretty much out of the house by then). Carl, didn't settle down until he married.

I remember one time I -- yes, sweet, innocent me -- got Carl into trouble. I wanted to be a circus acrobatic, so I decided one day I was going to ride my bike and then as I approached a rope, my brother was to lift it, and I would lift the bike over the rope as I had seen the circus acrobats do. Well, it didn't quite work out that way, and when asked what happened, I told my mom that my brother had pulled the rope and made me fall. He got disciplined for that. I hope he forgives me for that trouble-making event in his trouble-filled early years.

We called Carl "Diddle" because when he was a baby, my mom called him "Little Carl" to distinguish between him and my father, who was also named Carl. Well, my brother Mark, couldn't say "little", it came out "Diddle" and the name stuck. To this day, I call him "Did" -- which is Diddle shortened. I see him rarely because he lives in NJ and I live in KY. I miss him, though, just as I miss my brother, Mark.

My brother Mark has e-mail, and I do e-mail him occasionally, but I never get a response via e-mail from him. Once in a while he'll call me, and I try to remember to call him occasionally also. Time does get away from me (and him) and then it's another day and I haven't contacted either brother. Maybe they will read this and know that I love them and wish we could see each other more often, and that distance wasn't such a problem.