1956 - My Brother

After all...what are little brothers for?
...Heh...heh...heh...

1956 – My Brother

“Steve!” Dad shouted, “Get down here!”

Steve came running. Dad sounded upset but he hadn’t gotten in any trouble today so he wasn’t concerned in the least. “What, Daddy?”

Dad turned toward the basement wall and made a sweeping gesture with his arm, “Did you do this?” It was obvious to anyone looking that this was Steve’s handwriting. It said “Steve.” It was uneven and went up hill and downhill. The S and one e was written backwards. Steve was only 4 ½ years old and was just learning to write his name.

“But, I didn’t do this!” He whined. “Larry did this!”

“Come-on, Steve. This is obviously your name and your handwriting. It couldn’t be Larry, he writes much smoother and your mother certainly didn’t do this. Who else could it be?” This was true. My still-younger brother, Wayne, was still a babe in arms so it was pretty clear he wasn’t the culprit here. I clearly remember covering pages and pages of heavily lined paper in circles and swirls as our teacher had instructed us in penmanship class, part of our English studies. Sometimes it was a page of individual circles and sometimes a continuous line of circle upon circle upon circle continuing from left to right on each line on the paper. Pages of “waves” or c upon c upon c covered the pages as well as pages of circling e’s and pages of w’s that looked like flocks of seagulls. My spelling was atrocious but it always looked good even if spelled completely wrong. I’m not sure if Steve’s teacher had given his class this task as his letters were a series of individual choppy lines that, together, made up each individual letter. It looked choppy and his letters were still consistently backwards and occasionally even upside-down. Years later we would hear about dyslexia but for now this was just a symptom of a kid having trouble learning to write. The most common symptoms of his handwriting was the backwards S & e. The uphill/downhill part was my idea…

MY idea? What could I possibly have to do with Steve’s name being plastered over the basement wall? What could I possibly have to do with the bucket of green paint that still sat with one of the brushes soaking in the paint with the top of the can lying a couple of feet away. It sat lying upside down with a lovely paint-can sized green circle that was revealed upon its retrieval. When discovered, Steve had the other brush in his hand where he held it ready to help his big brother with the task at hand…his big brother was nowhere around…

We now move on to 2001. Mom and her husband Gene are living in Tucson and my wife and I are visiting. They have invited an additional couple to dinner with us and we sit in casual conversation. I’m involved in a conversation with Gene when I hear out of the corner of my ear: “Oh, Larry loved all of his little brothers so much. He always stood up for his little brother, Steve, when he was still very little and Steve wasn’t even in school, yet.” This caught my attention because…well I heard my name mentioned. Mom was relating stories to the two other women. She proceeded, “There was one time when his appeals were so desperate that he actually talked us out of punishing Steve.” As this was news to me, my ears perked up. Mom began relating the previous story. As she wrapped it up I couldn’t contain my laughter any longer.

“How long have you been telling this story?” I asked.

“Oh this is one of my favorite stories about you and Steve. I’ve been telling this since you were about 6. I think that when it happened.”

“Well the timing is right mom, but the story may be a little different than you know. Didn’t I ever straighten this incident out?”

“No,” said mom a tentative tone creeping into her voice, “I thought I had it right.”

“Well pretty close, mom, but not exactly as you remember it…”

“Well,” I started. “Steve didn’t actually write his name on the wall.” I winced awaiting the reaction.

Mom looked at me calmly. If her glasses had been on she would have been looking over the top of them. As it was, she simply looked askance, and in a low tone offered “And?”

I looked towards the ceiling offering a comical expression to the Gods to which I generously added a rolling of my eyes.

“But I remember this so well, myself. I caught Steve with the brush in his hands. I think he had paint on his shoes, too. I remember when your dad got home I told him and he went to the basement to check. He actually thought it was kinds of funny as he was getting ready to paint that wall but he knew, after the mess on the floor and all over Steve’s clothes…” She interrupted herself, “…I think it was in his hair, too.” She stopped for a second examining her memory. “When your dad went to get his belt, you started pleading with him not to punish Steve. You kept it up and complained in support of your brother so long we eventually didn’t punish Steve because we could tell how upset you were getting from the punishment of your little brother.”

I blew my breath out. “Oh, he was playing in the paint alright but it wasn’t exactly his fault.”

Mom looked at me expectantly. As I looked up I noticed that somehow I now had the attention of the entire table.

My eyebrows went up and I blew my breath out from puffed cheeks. “Ok,” I said “Hmmm…where to start…” I took a deep breath. “See, I, too, remember this incident. It’s probably the first time I tried something diabolical that actually worked. There was actually a clue at the time that I was surprised no one picked up on.”

This time mom interrupted me, “But you kept saying Steve was too little to know what he was doing and…” she stopped, “…hmmm…oh…” It was a little “Oh” but it said so much – I think mom had just gotten it. “You were feeling guilty.”

“Bingo!” I said.

“But you always had such good penmanship and this was so messy. It looked just like Steve’s writing.”

“Yep, I planned it that way. That was part of what you missed. Steve did make his S’s and his e’s backwards so I made sure to use this clue to point the guilt at him. I just didn’t know I would feel so guilty when it came time for blame. The part you missed was Steve always wrote in a straight line. Even when it was uphill it was straight uphill…I purposely wrote the letters up and down and realized as soon as I was done that this was the thing that would probably give me away.” I took a breath. “In fact if I remember correctly I kept waiting for that to come up but no one but me must have noticed this fact.”

“Then why didn’t you confess…?”

“If I remember correctly I was about to give in and confess everything when you guys gave in.”

“But, you loved your little brother so much why…” She stopped.

“Why confess when the judge has thrown the case out of court.” I remarked. “No one was getting punished. Why would I volunteer for a punishment that was going unused? I thought you guys had this one figured out years ago.”

“I wonder what else we don’t have a clue about.” Mom mused.

I looked back with an innocent look. Mom shot me a look that clearly displayed her doubt.

“Well,” I started, “Did you guys ever figure out how that big hole appeared in the living room wall…the one just about the size of Walter's Head?”