My Brother, My Hero

Just got back from a visit with my mom and dad who live a couple hours away. An unexpected treat was my older brother popping in for a couple hours while we were there.

This is not just any ole' big brother. No, he's much more than ordinary.

This is the older brother who lunged across the back seat of our family's red Rambler (there's a flash from the past!) to grab the handle and somehow pull shut the the car door that had accidentally swung open while we were cruising down the highway one night when I was about 5 years old. His stunning and decisive action persuaded me that he was indeed brave and valiant, since it was obvious to me that he had spared my young life. (Remember, these were the days waaaaay before seatbelts were even installed, much less mandated.)

It wasn't just his courage that won my youthful devotion. Another time he and I and two boys who lived in the other half of our duplex were walking home from the public swimming pool. I had purchased a five cent package of candy at the concession stand and was lagging behind as I struggled with the cellophane wrapper, eager to savor those little caramel morsels. Suddenly I looked up and realized I was surrounded by about three very big kids I'd never met (maybe ten years old -- huge to a five or six year old). They grabbed the candy out of my hands and ran. I was shocked, frightened, and violated. I can't recall whether or not I was hysterical or even crying when I caught up with my brother and told him what had happened, but I do remember clearly that he immediately gave me his package of caramels. It was a major consolation to know that I had someone in my life who, though he might not be able to fix everything in my world, would extend compassion to me in my troubles.

While I'm gushing, I'll also add:

• he could flip his eyelids inside out and act like a "monster" (way cooooool, in my young estimation)
• he could walk across the backyard on his hands (still impressive in my book)
• it was he who informed me of the meaning of my name Linda ("pretty"!) as soon as he learned it in high school Spanish class, reversing my opinion (up till then I hadn't been too fond of my name since it had become so popular that I was never the only Linda in any class, all the way through school)
• he endeared me by learning to play the song "Linda" by memory on his trombone and serenaded me down the hall (meanwhile the lyrics would float through my mind: "When I fall asleep, I never count sheep, I only just dream about Linda...")
• the first major purchase he made after getting a full-time summer job at age 16 was to buy me a girl's bicycle -- up to that point, every bike I'd ever had was a hand-me-down boy's bike

AND...

• he mailed me a beautiful leather-bound Bible from college -- the first new one I'd ever owned; I still have it and cherish it

My big brother can be counted on to demur whenever I make a big deal about any of the above. I guess he figures he was just doing what older siblings do for the younger ones. But because of all that stuff and much, much more he was, is, and always will be one of my all-time hero/good guys.

I love you, Doug.

[If any of this makes you think of a sibling who shared with you, comforted you, protected you or was just plain good to you in general -- why not send a quick note (or call) and let him or her know how blessed you are to have them?]