Harry Truman was President of the United States. A few scientists began walking the edges of climate change. An American in Paris won the Oscar for best motion picture. The year was 1952, and on this day seventy years ago, my brother, Matt, also known as, Snooky and Aunt Matt, entered the world. Flamingos around the globe danced in jubilation.
We grew up in a large family, six children who loved each other, mostly, kid-like anyway. They call us baby boomers now, which explains the plethora of neighbor kids we had to hang out with at all hours. Us boomers, playing hide-and-seek under silvery moons, the sound of youthful voices spilling out from behind a tree, a garbage can. We played free, sans the distractions of the unknown future; cellphones, the internet, social media, crabby politics. But then we started to grow up.
It's been said that in families each person might have different memories of their childhood. Varying versions of events, places, who won the most games of Monopoly, who even finished a whole game. However, I know this to be true, at least my rendition. My brother, Matt, bought me outfits from Action Alley for my birthdays, the whole pantsuit, like the one hanging on the wall for display and he thought of me. He helped me color-coordinate my clothes before school, a definite no to plaids and stripes together. He made me laugh, our own code, our ridiculous funny face we shared with each other, just because. He taught me to drive in the parking lot of Bazaar. The store is no longer there, a community college now, but sometimes as we pass by, a snapshot of us two teenagers winging a driving lesson filters across the happy part of my mind. The part that doesn't recall if the car was a stick shift or automatic, simply the pleasure of the memory is enough. Clothing me in the Beautiful.
Love leaves no space between us, it crowds us together you and me, carrying us on its back, no matter who we will be.
The Vietnam War called and they had Matt's number. He says my prayers kept him safe from harm tucked away in Missouri, I grin inward, whisper a silent thanks to Jesus. And when he moved to San Diego and opened a floral shop, I missed my brother, my friend. Nowadays, I tell him how blessed he is whenever I can, and I know it to be true. Many of his friends died due to Aids, one still lives, a forever friend, a blessing unearthed from the broken pieces. When he got sober five years ago, my heart did merry cartwheels, I had my brother back.
My brother loves gardening and gardening loves him. When he brings me random floral offerings, a potted plant, a bouquet of his own orchids I am that teenage girl all over again, inhaling the sweet smell of nostalgia, catching a glimpse of his generous heart. And those cellphones we never heard of way back then? Instead of soliciting advice on clothing attire, I emit a quick text with gardening questions. Or we chat and laugh silly, candy for the soul.
We didn't even realize we were making memories, we just knew we were having fun.
~Winnie the Pooh~
Life has an uncanny way of stitching a family together, decade upon decade, patchworking the messy, the ugly hard, the gifts and graces into something amazingly beautiful. We are loved. We are blessed. We are that family.
Somewhere over a rainbow, where love colors the sky, voices ring loud day and night with abandoned glee, Olly olly oxen free.