Beware of your Older Brother

Today is Super Tuesday! Everything on television is all about the primaries and who is winning which state. So I thought, after yesterday’s post, I would continue on the light side of posting. While my Nana pops up again to visit with us tonight, she is not the star. Tonight we visit once again with my older brother with whom I went fishing. This time he taught me a different lesson. Beware of your brother.

I cannot remember the exact year that this occurred, but the fact that my dad is involved tells me that it was pre-1980. We lived in my Nana’s house, but she spent only half the year with us. The other half was spent with my Aunt. In the summer, she would get us up early to go out and weed our garden. As far as a kid goes, this was a pretty big vegetable garden. Nana raised all sorts of items, and our job was to keep it free of weeds. I can still remember throwing dirt clods at our cousins whose garden was two feet away from ours. Don’t worry – they returned fire.

Nana was extremely smart and would get us up early to work. While we could never accept her logic, it makes perfect sense now, she always told us to get it done before it became hot and then we could have the rest of the day to ourselves. This meant begging our neighbors across the street to go swimming.

On this particular day, my brothers had something going on for I remember being the only one around. As usual, I was out in the garden weeding. Okay, I was out in the garden picking clods of dirt and dropping them. I would throw some at the fence to see if I could make it through the holes in one piece. I watched insects. I, well I did everything but pull weeds.

I could hear some banging coming out of my bedroom. I knew Nana had plans to fix a problem on my bunk bed. A board had come loose or something. It could not have been that big of a deal since I was fine with it. Nana however did not want it to deteriorate any more. Bang. Bang. Bang. Then silence. I guess it wasn’t that big of a deal.

I went back to dirt toss. Next thing I know the sounds of the birds singing was shattered by Nana yelling for me. Now this was not a normal yell. All three of my names came shrieking threw the air. Every person knows that when your full name is used, you better move it….and you were in trouble. I thought fleeing and claiming ignorance, but I knew better. I booked it for my room.

I took the stairs four or five at a time. I turned the corner and flew through the door to find Nana at the head of my bed holding the mattress high off the frame. There on the slats sat a pile of magazines – Playboy Magazines. (I guess this posting is in honor of the last publication.) The look on Nana’s face was a combination of anger, sadness, disbelief, and shame. I stood mouth agape.

Before she even had the chance to ask, I pleaded innocence. I mind raced for an answer. My eyes fell on my brother’s bed and the light bulb went off. He didn’t want to get caught with the magazines so he hid them under my mattress. Fortunately, I was quickly let off the hook. My brother definitely was more likely to be the culprit in this case. I moved them out to the garage with the rest of his stash.

Since it was Nana’s house, we honored her rules. She spoke to our dad about not wanting those “rags” in her house. My father spoke with my brother with an understanding of what teen males go through. He told him to just get them out of the house. My brother promised to do just that and called a friend to see if he wanted them. The deal was made.

Either that evening or the next, we had rehearsal for our Junior Drum & Bugle Corp. We practiced in the parking lot of Bell Aerospace. The lot took up more than a block. Due to the size, the horn line, drum line, and color guard could all practice in different areas without interfering with the others. We also had enough space to mark out a football field to learn our moves. The horn line always went to the far corner to work music at the start of practice.

Our dad, being the director of the group, held meetings with officials from the Drum Corps International (DCI) organization while preparing for our home show. On this particular night, he had high-end officials there to meet and talk about how the show would happen. They walked around the practice for a little, and then they were ready to get down to business. My dad asked them to walk with him to our van so he could get his briefcase. The approached the back doors, and my dad reached for the handle. As soon as the door had the slightest of openings out they came. No longer was this a little stack of magazines. My brother had an entire box of the publication. Out they all came, out from the van, out from the box, and all around my dad’s feet. There he stood with the officials from DCI looking down at the pavement.

Now earlier I mentioned how loud Nana yelled when she first found these magazines. My father’s yell made hers sound like a whisper. He didn’t have to use my brother’s full name. Every horn became silent. They entire line looked over at my brother. I cannot remember if it was my brother or somebody else that went, “oh oh, he found the magazines.”

So my brother taught me two things with this incident. Beware of your brother and always check under your mattress when you share a room.

I hope you enjoyed tonight’s meander. Thank you for reading.