February is always a little sad for me. My baby brother Darrin, who died in 2000 was born on February 15 and my older brother Neil died on February 13, 1994. Both died way too young and I always feel their loss.
Darrin was 14 years younger than me, and I left home no long after he was born. We didn’t have the history that I had with Neil. Neil was about 7 years older which was just the right age to keep me in line.
Neil was a good kid, but he did have a mean streak that would come out now and then. Our parents bought him a pellet gun when he was 16 and he immediately proclaimed himself lord of the neighborhood.
That pellet gun was powerful if you pumped it five or six times, but pumped once or twice it just left a nasty bruise on your rear end. Neil used this technique for behavior management.
One fine spring day, I was being my usual little brother pain and he decided it was time to adjust my attitude. Suddenly a pellet popped my right thigh and I ran straight home to tell mom. I knew she would make him pay dearly.
Neil headed me off at the pass, “ come on you little baby, that didn’t hurt.” Mom was on the back porch washing clothes, and she was always irritable when she did the washing. I knew when I told her, Neil was going to get hickory tea.
Neil was getting desperate, “ if you tell momma she’ll hit the roof.” I answered back, “ You got that right bubba.” Then he changed his tactics, “ if I get a whipping, I’ll catch you asleep and I ‘ll put a worm in your ear and it will eat your brains.”
That threat put a nasty picture in my head; I did not want to walk around like a Zombie, though I was pretty sure he was bluffing. I decided to give him another chance.
Remembering that story made me smile, and thinking back, maybe I should have told mom. But, no matter, I still miss my brothers.
