My Brothers
CHAPTER TWO
My Brothers
My brothers were both considered "good Kids" by societal standards,
being law-abiding, and generally speaking, parent-abiding as well.
However, blood relationships do not guarantee a likeness of character
or form, and so it was with Norm and Todd. They looked nothing alike,
facially or otherwise. Norm was muscular, with unstoppable health,
while Todd was taller, thin, and prone to allergies. Apart from such
obvious dissimilarities their personalities and interests also differed
greatly. Such differences rarely evoked conflict, though, because they
were on wholly separate planes. Norm and Todd were not incompatible in
an obnoxious sense; they merely followed their own dreams. A
coincidence of their respected circles of interest occurred mainly
through their great love--and respect--for nature; thanks to Dad. They
also shared a consuming interest in the chug and maintenance of the
woodland trails and bridges on which they would ride. Basically,
though, Norm and Todd were as different as apples and oranges. My
memories of and love for each of my brothers varied greatly from the
other, and changed with the passage of time, for I, as well as they,
underwent transitional phases. Thus, as characters were modified and
outlooks were altered, relationships, also, transformed through the
years.
My fondest memories of Todd, who bested Norm by roughly three years,
were those of our early interactions. Todd had a wonderful ability to
entertain children. He seemed to sense the exact type of gesture and
manner of conversation which enthralled a young audience, and as a
result, was rarely able to rest once a child noticed this value. He
possessed an unbelievable attention span and tolerance for a child's
endless and often irrational demands.
I found Todd to be an inexhaustible source of amusement, as he was
quite adept at conjuring up names and personalities for my motley array
of stuffed animals. He would then provide an endless flow of
nonsensical banter for the animal of my choosing, which delighted and
held captive my attention for countless hours on end.
I had two favorites, the first of which was an alligator; Todd would
shake the green amphibious creature, emit a gravel-throated roar, and
proceed to chase me about the house until I could no longer escape and
irreversibly served as the alligator's dinner.
The second was a beloved bear whose eyes were so asymmetrically adhered
to its face that it appeared to be immersed in a drunken stupor. Todd
christened the bear "Coors Bear" in reference to the beer of the same
name, and projected its character as that of a bum in desperate need of
another drink. He would make the bear twitch and shake with obvious
delirium moaning simultaneously, "Whe'm I?....Whe'm I?" This would
continue unless the bear was administered an ample swig of Coors beer
from a small bottle; the bear was then content to laze back into a
dream-like sleep.
Both of my brothers teased me. It was the inevitable result of being
the youngest member of the family and, of course, the least educated
and self-sufficient of the entire group. They were not ruthless in
their teasing; they never insulted my intelligence, only my ignorance,
which was not as serious since ignorance could be reversed in due time.
I felt transparent; they seemed to know what would bother me, from my
petty insecurities to faulty rationalization.
I well remember the family excursions, in which I generally sat in the
back seat between Norm and Todd. Like clock work, they would serenade
to me in unison, "Souvenir, bathroom, bottle-of-pop" while we drove
past the flat and blistering hot corn fields toward our destination,
claiming that these were my three favorite aspects of the summer
vacation; I would seethe and boil, but could do nothing, as I fully
realized that they were probably right.
They would also grab Coors Bear, and, holding him at an arm's length
out of the window while traveling 70 miles per hour, threaten to throw
him into the fields. I panicked at the possibility, my eyes fixed on
the battered bear as the wind fiercely buffeted its floppy arms and
legs. The bear was always hoisted back into the car after an ample
display of hostility from me and never suffered the cruel injustice.
(Coors bear was eventually disposed of in the garbage can, a more
humiliating, but less violent, retirement.)
Norm especially loved to tease and mock my childish idiosyncrasies; he
derived immense satisfaction from quizzing me, and because he used
words which were far beyond my capacity to understand, smiled
uncontrollably at my frustration. He always called me "illiterate,"
and while I had no conception of the word's meaning, I knew it was
something which I did not want to have as a permanent attribute.
Norm also enjoyed pelting me with the arsenal of pillows which the
basement couch housed. As he fired away, making direct hits with each
pillow I would gather the pillows and try, in vain, to throw one in his
general vicinity. I rarely made contact with his body, let alone his
head, as I hurled pillow after pillow at my assailant, only to be
blasted again in rapid succession after he picked up my futile
scattering of pillows from the floor and behind the couch. Finally, I
would intentionally spill all of the pillows on the floor in front of
me in overt exasperation and yell "The end!" I wanted no further
conflict. After several such instances, he decided to mock my ultimate
reaction to bombardments and he himself threw all of the pillows on the
floor with an accompanying, "The end!" He then looked at me with one
raised eyebrow until he received his reward; a screech of anger.
Other conflicts which evolved in the basement's TV room concerned
the programs themselves. At 3:30 "Lassie" and "Star Trek" were aired,
creating a daily duel between Norm and me. Mom settled the argument,
declaring that every other day we would be able to see our preferred
show. The system worked well, except for the fact that, on the days in
which "Lassie" appeared, Norm would raise his hand in Lassie's dog-like
gesture and emit a mewing howl similar to the one which characterized
the dog. Liking the show, but rather embarrassed by that fact due
to the show's incredibly rosy view of life, the mimicry bothered me.
Luckily my taste changed and I soon truly preferred "Star Trek" because
of it's science fiction appeal, and thereby eliminated one tender spot
through a transformation on my behalf.
Through my early years of life, my memories of Norm surrounded not so
much the things we did together, but the way in which I saw his
character. Norm seldom actually played with me; that was more Todd's
arena. Except when he teased me, I was not conscious of being a child
in Norm's company. I felt on equal terms with him more than I did with
many other people who constantly maintained a distinction between my
age and their own if only through a somewhat laughable change of pitch
in their voice or a determinedly more animated style of speaking.
I always had a great love for Norm. He was easy-going and unobtrusive,
and his presence was never unwelcome. He avoided unpleasant situations
whenever possible and lacked aggression in areas where, for the
generally accepted definition of success, that sometimes obnoxious
trait was necessary. He rarely sought attention and money was
of little consequence.
Norm valued simplicity and serenity; high-scale achievement was not
among his priorities. He saw that "success" was a race which never
ended, for another conquerable realm always presented itself. The race
was everywhere; whether it was the attainment of placing oneself on the
honor roll in school, or gaining promotions at work, or prestige and
popularity in social circles. People allowed headaches to germinate in
their minds simply because the thought of tasting success dominated
their values. Why was "good" never "good enough?"
Norm was a virtual dynamo with regard to accomplishing a task. It had
to go fast or Norm's patience would dissipate into the air. Whether it
was a chore around the house or a dose of homework, he persevered until
his work was finished and then retired to the front steps to sit.
A job's completion did not always signify a flawless result, however.
For instance, compared to Todd's smooth, taut version, Norm's bed was a
haven for lumps, with the pillow stashed hurriedly beneath the twisted
and rumpled spread. In school, Norm was a solid B student. He did not
strive for his grades because perfection, to him, held no rewards.
Norm did his work rapidly and fostered no hideous nightmares about
tests. A slightly above average mark did not obliterate his happiness.
When under the employ of a firm, Norm was trustworthy and
conscientious. Whether delivering newspapers or landscaping a yard,
he made certain that the job was done well, from his punctual arrival
through the day's end. Doing an honest day's work was less complicated
than expending energy to connive a way out of it; he knew that he
earned his pay and never had to look over his shoulder in apprehension
when the boss strode by.
Norm did not worry about being good enough. He was confident and proud
of who he was and what he wanted in life. Average grades or average
jobs did not signify average intelligence and he felt no need
to apologize for his position in terms of societal importance.
It was a refreshing outlook which suited him perfectly.
Norm was very athletic; one could tell by the way he walked. Sports
were a source of entertainment, and he succeeded in almost everything
he tried. Only two aspects of his personality stood in the way of his
being selected as "team material" for many sports. First, he felt that
a game was a game; although he did his best, he could not take a game
as seriously as did many of the others who became enraged by losing.
He wanted it to be fun, and competition was fun only as long as the
game remained free of hostilities. Secondly, he disliked sports
demanding body contact; he was conscious of his own space and avoided
being touched. Norm despised wrestling, but since it was required in
physical education, he handled his distaste by promptly pinning his
partner and thereby ending the match. Taking notice of his ability,
the teacher eagerly teamed him up with the heaviest, sweatiest guys
in the class. Sickened by their stench and glassy-eyed fervor, Norm
determined to purposely shorten the match; he allowed himself
to be pinned.
The sport which fit Norm's ideal was baseball and he served as pitcher
for various teams. I recall hazy images of his ball games, especially
those during which Mom and I crouched on the bleachers beneath
a newspaper to ward off the rain, while she proudly feasted her eyes on
the pitcher's mound with an inaudible, "that's MY boy" inscribed on her
face. Dad's employment kept him from attending some of the games,
but Mom always went, a fan until Norm lost his attraction for the game.
Mom savors the memory of Norm being chosen to pitch yearly
for the All-Star games.
Todd never went to Norm's games. He didn't have much interest in
sports. It's difficult to know whether or not being good at something
makes you like it. I happen to know that liking something does not
make you good at it, for I love to bowl, but once bowled a
16--amazing by anyone's standards. (I was in high school at the
time.) At any rate, Todd preferred to forego physical activity
of the competitive nature, electing instead to pursue his penchant
for gadgetry, electronics and in general, anything that would spin
or balance. When drying the dishes he was not content to simply lay
a lid on the table; he first had to give it a hearty whirl on its rim,
whereupon the kitchen would ring with a wavering "wong, wong, wong"
until the swiftly fluttering lid collapsed onto the table with a final,
resolute, "wop." Mom forbid such treatment of glassware and china, of
course, or undoubtedly many items would have sustained irreversible
damage.
In effect, Todd was the mad scientist of the family, having to take
mechanical objects apart to view and study their internal workings,
and obtaining chemicals for his experiments which ate holes through his
bedspread. He had infinite patience and stuck to an idea until it
worked, even if it took all night. Todd was a licensed ham radio
operator and collected all the necessary equipment to seek and find
countless stations as well as other operators. Much of his spare time
was spent behind the "rig," although he found equal enjoyment in
playing with or annoying the huge spiders in our garage. It was Todd
who tried to power his bicycle with an electric motor, and gathered
scum and algae from the ponds to gaze upon through his microscope.
He was also the only person in the family who could start a particularly
cantankerous lawn mower.
Todd loved the extraordinary and took time to notice the small things.
One night, he took a walk down in the woods and found some fungi which
glowed in a luminous shade of green. He returned to the house to
report the strange phenomenon and together we threaded our way back
down the dark trail to the uncanny sight. Sure enough, delicate points
of light embellished the damp, rotting logs on the woodland floor,
transforming decay into a hauntingly magical scene.
With all of his patience in creative and mechanical fields of interest,
one might have thought Todd was unruffled and carefree. Despite his
slow and deliberate reasoning, however, his demeanor could rapidly
transform into reckless belligerence if tormented. While Norm hurried
through his homework to pursue more pleasing objectives, Todd sat
behind his books in angry defiance, as if the homework which he
declared "unreasonable busy work" would somehow shrink before his
abomination. As the night peeled away, he wasted in vengeance hours
which might have been spent behind his radio. Though he was an
achiever, he wanted to go about it in his own way.
Graduating from high school in the 60's greatly affected Todd's outlook
and he adopted the prevalent anti-establishmentarianism attitudes with
intense vigor. He also embraced the ecology movement as a worthy cause
and between the two modes of thought, plus the fact that he had
attained the classic age of rebellion, nurtured a rigid hatred of cars
which, eventually, blossomed into anything but a delicate flower.
Fuming internally about the inherent necessity for cars, despite their
polluting effects on our society, Todd would actually vent his disgust
upon the automobiles themselves (which produced simultaneous
protectiveness and anger from Dad, who was uncertain of the safety of
his car in Todd's hands). Ironically Norm bought a car which Todd
sometimes used that was incredibly pollutive, yet Todd would angrily
flop into the car and rumble out of the driveway, its muffler belching
a toxic cloud of gray carbon into the air that followed him
up the street as he drove to his ecology meetings.
Sometimes I felt as if Todd was like a spring aching to be sprung.
In driving, it was obvious that Todd released frustrations behind
the wheel. This trait, however, was not directly related to his
anti-establishment/pro-ecology stance; other pressures, whether
conscious or unconscious, were to blame for that. Moreover, Mom
recalls that as a youngster Todd would ride his tricycle precariously
down the hill behind our house, balancing on two wheels and cackling
with enjoyment throughout the wild trip. Despite his history, one
generally persisted to assume that Norm, sports-oriented and having
little patience for the fine-honed arts, would have been the terror in
the driver's seat. The fact was, however, that Todd was the reckless
one, using cars in a hard, decisive way which demanded their utmost
performance. I might add that his safety depended on such performance,
for if brakes failed, or mechanical workings malfunctioned, results
could have been disastrous. The rampaging tornado, however, was never
involved in "the big crash" and continues to parallel park vehicles
with one, exacting maneuver (a feat which, in my eyes, demonstrates
brilliant skill). Perhaps I worried too much. Perhaps I still do.
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