Big Brothers

As most of you know, I am an only child…with four siblings. That’s because when I was born my siblings were between the ages of 11 and 18.  When my parents moved from Slatington’s Franklin Street to Dowell Street, I was six years old at the time, I was the only kid left at home. Now I am down to two siblings. My oldest brother and my sister both died when they were 65. (I am 66…whew!) Cancer claimed both their lives.

Here is a picture of my still living big brothers and me.

I didn’t realize, until I saw this picture, that I am the shortest.

On the right is my brother Jim. He turned 80 last month. On the left is my brother Gary. He turns 78 in January. I admire them both. In my family we don’t talk much about our feelings. So they probably don’t know how much I admire them. But I do. Here’s why.

They are both smart and funny and care very much about their families.  Both were blue collar workers all their lives, and both built beautiful homes and have secure  retirements.

Jim and his wife will be celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary very soon. Gary and his wife are at 58. They are both close to all their children and both have withstood the ups and downs that life brings in the form of health scares and family dramas.  I always looked up to their marriages and hoped to emulate that. Unfortunately, I have been married…lets just say, more than once.  I’m not complaining. My life has been pretty awesome as well.

Individually, my brother Jim helped me when my mom died. He and his wife, Eileen, allowed me and my dad to move in with them. That was during my high school years. During those years, Jim was as much a father to me as my own dad was.

Gary helped me get a job with Pfizer. He and I both worked together in the old dirty green pigments factory I have written about before. Getting that job started a trajectory to where I am, careerwise, today.

Those are just two examples of the advantages of having big brothers.  I am who I am partly because of them.

I want to close with just a quick funny story of how my brothers also aren’t saints, though I may have portrayed them that way.  When I turned twelve, I went hunting. My first hunting trip with my two brothers was quite the shock.  I never heard my brother Jim curse before, not in my first twelve years.  F bombs were flying!!  Haha. So my first hunting memory was not the first rabbit or pheasant I shot, but how much my big brother cursed!!

I love them both and hope to have many more years with them. Today, I am going on hike with my granddaughter…can’t wait! More memories to be made.