My Little Brother Is Turning 51 Today
When I think of my relationship with my brother Steve there are far too many experiences and adventures to tell about but a few do stand out in my mind. One of my earliest memories of Steve took place when we were really little. We shared a bed and
as I would be trying to fall asleep Steve would rub my eyes to help himself go to sleep. This strange habit persisted until he was about 11 and mom moved me out. Needless to say at fourteen, I was less than tolerant…
I recall our trips over the pretty terrifying Loveland pass in Colorado. Steve would sit on his side of the car and pray ceaselessly that we would make it. I owe my life to Steve as do the rest of the passengers, including Becky who always occupied the middle position. On one of our trips over the pass, the highway was overcrowded with cars in full rush-hour from the ski slopes. We knew that if we stopped we would never get home. Steve had to urinate with a vengeance and was practically crying about it. Actually, I think he was crying about it and I am sure Becky was crying about it and he begged mom until she said, “You are going to have to go in this coke bottle.”
Nonplussed, he unzipped and peed until the bottle was full. These were bottles without screw caps and so mom had to open the door and dump it out into the traffic. I’m sure some drivers were mystified about the sudden yellow spray that hit their windshields!
However, the thing I remember best about Steve has always been his love of animals, be they dogs, goats, rabbits or hamsters. When he was about twelve, he decided to raise rabbits with the 4-H or something. When it came time to slaughter the rabbits, he said that he did not think he could do it. I said that I would help him out with it and got slaughter lessons from the lady who sold him the bunnies. I came home and made things ready. Though he lacked heart to kill them he insisted on observing. When I did a bad job on my first victim and it woke up hung up by its Achilles tendons and began to scream, Steve also started screaming hysterically “It’s not dead, it’s not dead!”
My best effort at an answer was to assure him, “It’s just nerves Stevie, it’s just nerves!” The next year he raised Lops because they were just for show… In other words, “Rich would not get to kill the rabbits.” I don’t think he believed me and the next year he opted for show only rabbits.
When Steve was much older he wept when he had to kill his favorite pig and never mind the other pigs, some of whom caused him some pain when had to do some surgery on them. But I won’t go into that now… On one of my visits to his home in Lehi, he asked me if I wanted some goat meat. I was always grateful for meat and he told me it was in the freezer downstairs. I went to check it out and found a black garbage full of two tiny goat carcasses frozen inseparably together. I went upstairs and asked, “What gives with the goats?”
He went on to tell me that the goats had been given to him by a neighbor who raised nanny goats for milking and that their children refused to eat the male goats because they became too attached to them. Not understanding how that had anything to do with the frozen carcasses, I asked him to explain why he had not butchered the goats and at least separated them into packets. He said, “Listen, they were so damned cute that when I got done slaughtering them, I felt so bad that I didn’t want anything more to do with them. They’re yours if you want them!”
These are a few of my many memories. I tell stories to all of my friends in Peru; the stories are just a part of me. When I was talking with friends in Peru, Juana, (a good friend) reminded me of many of the stories I had told her about Steve and it made me think that, although years and distance have stretched between us, most of my best stories involve him and now he is known from the Altiplano of Peru, to Chile, to Argentina, to Colombia and selected areas of Australia!
I think that what impresses me most about Steve is how much he is like Dad. He has the same laugh and has the same endearing qualities that our father had. He has a gentleness that I find enviable. He adores his family and would do anything for them. Now that he is fifty-one I cannot believe it. How the years have flown and here we are, the age of our dad when we were young men. That seems impossible. And so, Steve, on this your 51st birthday, I just want to say that I love you and miss you and wish you a Happy Birthday and many, many more.
posted by Rich and Julie @ 7:06 AM
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