He’s My Brother…
There is a picture that hangs in my hall, there is a song by a group known as The Hollies
He Ain’t Heavy ( He’s My Brother)
Growing up we have loads of memories of our siblings. some happy some sad, many conflicting. Al was my younger brother. He was an independent soul. He was going to do as he wanted in spite of opinions and or consequences, but he found his solace, his element in the quiet confines of home.
The sole girl in the family I lost my star status when he arrived. I was NOT real interested in the red, noisy baby. I tried to make him disappear by hiding him behind our large console color television in 1963. A prank I did not soon forget, due to the whipping I got. Al got his first hair cut and one could hear him crying like someone was murdering him, I angrily turned to my older brother and asked, “what are they doing to him.” He was across the street from us at our grandmother’s house; we could not see what was happening, and did not dare cross that street. When he came home minus the mountain of hair and I could see he was okay, I was back to being the disinterested older sister. I was anything but disinterested, I just did not know it.
Fast forward the years, he was no longer my little brother ; he towered over me in stature and that’s no easy task since I am 5’10. He was smarter than me, I got a hold of his school records and read his I.Q. test result. I only had him chronologically. I watched him dote over my boys, and later become a father himself. He was a dedicated son, staying with our mother throughout her bout with dementia.
None of us are perfect, ALL of us are flawed. We do what we do, in the way we do it, correct for the time and circumstance. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT. My memories of my little brother Al will be of undying love and admiration. He will be missed forever.
hafacenturyncounting 